Page 44 of No More Bad Boys
It must be exactly what he was waiting for. His lungs heave with a harsh exhale, and a low moan comes from his throat as he releases my head and uses his hands to draw me securely against him.
Kissing me deeply, he slides one arm firmly around my waist. His other hand moves lower, cupping my hip to align our bodies perfectly, bringing my softest places in line with the tantalizing hardness of his body.
And I’m in uncharted territory. I’ve never felt desire like this before.
My excitement is turning into the sort of insanity that leads to foolish decisions andwhat-the-hell?flaunting of all possible consequences.
But thereareconsequences. I have to remember that. I have to rein this in before it’s too late.
I pull my lips away from Blake’s. He takes the opportunity to push my hair off my shoulder and shift his hot mouth to my neck. Which is now trembling in ecstasy and joining thegoforitgoforitgoforitchant that’s humming through the rest of my body.
He moves up my neck and whispers against my ear. “Should I come in?”
Yes, yes, oh yes,all my hormones scream in a hallelujah chorus.
“No,” I say with difficulty, sliding my hands to his chest and putting the slightest barrier between us. “Not tonight.”
Blake stares into my eyes. His lips come together in a tight expression that’s not hard to read.
The sexual frustration is flowing from his pores and surrounding us both in a hazy cloud, but his tone is measured and patient.
“Is there something you’re not telling me? Like… maybe youdohave a boyfriend?”
I shake my head. “No. No—I told you I didn’t, and I don’t lie.”
His voice lowers further, becoming a gentle whisper. “Are you by any chance anactualvirgin, because if you are, I understand—”
“Blake—no—I’m not. It’s not that.” I pull away farther.
“You’re not a hoarder are you?”
His tone lightens. I can see in his eyes he’s decided not to push it. “Maybe you’re worried I’ll step through the door and see your piles of magazines stacked to the ceiling, meet your twenty-five cats, and run away screaming?”
Now I laugh. The tension between us is dissipating, and it’s becoming easier to think. “I’m allergic to cats.”
“Ah—good to know. I’ll have to hide my twenty-five cats when you come over to my place then. And youcancome tomyplace anytime. 152 Peachtree Lane, Unit 2. In fact, come over tomorrow night, and I’ll make you dinner. I’ll even provide a full complement of utensils for your dining pleasure this time. And actual glasses for the wine.”
“Ooh, fancy. I can’t tomorrow night, though. I have… plans.”
His face falls, reassembling in the mask of concern from a few minutes ago. “A date?”
“Well… yeah.”
The concern morphs into displeasure. “Oh. Well… I have to work on Sunday, but maybe I can drop by here earlier tomorrow? Maybe pick you up for lunch, or bring you some if you have to study?”
The innocent suggestion fills me with instant panic. I don’t know what time Kenley’s planning to come home, if at all. I don’t want to chance them running into each other.
Now that he knows my apartment number, the danger of that is more real.
Why did I let him walk me up here?
“I don’t think so,” I say. “I’ll be pretty busy during the day.”
“Don’t tell me you have a lunch date, too? Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” The look of displeasure has become an outright frown. He’s pouting.
How cute.
I giggle in spite of myself. His perception of me as some kind of hot commodity never fails to tickle me.
