Page 78 of The Last Kind of Kiss
It also doesn’t help that this game is inherently sexual and the seat I’ve chosen just so happens to be attached to the guy I’m very much attracted to. I don’t know if I’ll last the night with all this temptation around me. Bristol Brenner’s the biggest challenge I’ve ever faced, and the most satisfying reward I’ll ever reap. He’s got me like a puppet on twisted strings—helpless, and completely at his mercy.
Casen takes his turn, successfully inching a block out from the side with dexterous fingers. “Do a body shot off the person to your right,” he reads.
Thankfully, all these dares have matched the current couples up with one another, and Josie’s about to take one hell of a ride to bone town if this goes right. Ugh, I should’ve gotten that block. Now all I can think about is using Bristol as my own personal shot glass.
A few hoots and hollers travel around the room, and even baby Eda—bless her heart—gurgles contently. Casen dashes to the kitchen, wastes no time in retrieving a tequila shot, a lime, and a saltshaker, and sprints all the way back without breaking a sweat.
Josie laughs, shaking the curls that bounce against her shoulders. “I can’t prove it, but you rigged this game.”
“Did I?” Casen presses the lime wedge against his wife’s cherry-red lips, and if I wasn’t so freakishly focused on the sceneunraveling before me, I probably wouldn’t have noticed that he murmurs something to her right before he sticks the wedge in.
Am I a terrible person to say that this is turning me on? I mean, for crying out loud, there is a child present! And alcohol. A bunch of alcohol, in my defense.
Josie keeps the rind in her mouth, her eyes raging with insatiable lust. Casen throws his head back and downs his shot, wets the pads of his middle and forefinger, then slowly drags them down the side of her neck. The whole room quietly cheers him on as he pours a bit of salt over the dampened area, licking a titillating stripe from Josie’s collarbone to her jaw. Everyone loses their mind. Bristol shifts on his hips, and I’m basically doing everything I can to keep the dam closed.
Finally, Casen grabs the lime from Josie’s mouth with his teeth and sucks the juice out of it. The whole thing is erotically fascinating. Bristol—the gentleman he’s always been—keeps his head buried in my shoulder, and I can feel him grinning against my skin.
“What?” I ask, giggling.
“Just thinking about how I would’ve done it.”
Pressure stretches through my lower abdomen, shaking my legs even though they’re not in use, and my pussy grows warm at the suggestion. “And how is that?”
The firmness of Bristol’s lap suddenly hardens, his erection fattening behind the zipper of his pants. “I would’ve started with laying you on the ground, and then I would’ve slowly peeled your dress down to your waist, running my fingers up and down that incredible stomach of yours.”
We’re in public. We’re in public. We’re in public.
I exhale to cover up a moan. “And?”
He growls a bit through his teeth, serving me rapture on a silver platter. “Fuck, Lils. And I’d pour the shot straight into your belly button before licking your neck to stick the salt on.”
WE’RE IN PUBLIC. WE’RE IN PUBLIC. WE’RE IN PUBLIC.
“Keep going,” I beg, crossing my legs.
“Then I’d hover my lips over?—”
“Lila, it’s your turn,” Aeris says to me, pulling me from my orgasmic reverie and throwing me back into reality where all my friends are staring expectantly at me.
I don’t move for a full minute. I will this terrible lighting and the coverage of my dress to hideanyevidence that foul play was involved. Bristol, on the other hand, is left to fare with a boner that I’m hoping isn’t as obvious as it felt.
I shuffle over to the tower with a lightheadedness that makes the room tilt, and I go for the easiest block I can find, which is a side piece that doesn’t harbor any inner weight. Once I slide that bad boy out, I flip it over, and then I mentally scream at the death sentence that’s scribbled on the back.
Play Seven Minutes in Heaven with a person of your choosing.
25
SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN
BRISTOL
Look, I’ve had some pretty painful boners in my lifetime. That’s just a “perk” of being a dude. But Lila has single-handedly made them a thousand times more excruciating. I’m honestly glad my friends are too tipsy right now to realize that I’m pitching the world’s biggest tent.
Lila looks beautiful up there next to the Jenga tower, haloed in a golden ray from the ambient low light, her kissable lips stretching into a genuine smile that shows just the right amount of teeth. Her dress is…my brain pretty much exploded when I saw her in it. I’ve never been a big fan of the color green. It reminds me of puke, slime, overcooked broccoli, things in general that just seem nasty. But on her, it’s a whole different story. She turns it into this shade reminiscent of sun-warmed lichen, or an olive-colored forest completely bathed in a yellow haze. She turns it into a shade I never knew existed, much less tolerated. And now, if the ultramarine of her eyes weren’t competition enough, she’s turning it into my new favorite color.
“Play Seven Minutes in Heaven with a person of your choosing,” she says, failing to hide the blush setting up camp in her cheeks.
The usual uproar passes through the group, and unsurprisingly, all my teammates look to me—which somehow isn’t enough to deflate my erection. Whoever coined the name Seven Minutes in Heaven was right. Lila’s heaven embodied. And if I’m fated to spend seven minutes in her, then so be it.
