Page 35 of Flag On The Play
“God, you’re annoying,” she says.
“I know.” I lean in closer. “You like it.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but she doesn’t.
And then it happens.
It’s not a decision. It’s gravity. It’s inevitable.
Her lips crash into mine, and everything else falls away. The music. The people. The noise. All of it fades into static.
She kisses like she argues. Hard, relentless, and completely in control.
I respond instantly, my hand sliding into her hair as her body presses against mine. Her lips are warm and urgent, and when I nip her bottom lip, she moans into my mouth and fuck me if I don’t almost lose it right there.
I pull away just enough to breathe. “Upstairs,” I mutter, voice rough.
She hesitates, but just for a second.
Then she grabs my hand.
We cut through the house, ducking through the crowd and up the stairs, slipping into the first empty bedroom I can find.
As soon as the door shuts, she turns, breathing hard.
“I’m not making any promises this is going anywhere. I don’t even like you all that much,” she says, voice low but firm.
“I didn’t ask for any promises,” I reply. I pull her to me and kiss a path to her ear. “And you like me, Nova. Maybe a little more than you’d like to admit.”
Right now, I don’t want her promises.
I just want her.
CHAPTER 11
NOVA
What the hell am I doing?
This is Finlay fucking Reed, and I hate that he’s right.
I do like him more than I want to admit, and it knocks the breath right out of me.
I press my palms to his chest and search his darkening eyes. I feel the steady pound of his heart under my fingers, and I know mine’s beating just as fast.
“I hate that I want you,” I whisper.
“Good,” he says, gripping my waist. “Then we’re even.”
He crashes his lips to mine, and it’s rough, desperate. Like we’re giving in to years of tension.
My hands slide down his sides and grab the bottom of his shirt, lifting it. He breaks the kiss long enough to help me get his shirt off before his lips find mine again.
My fingers trail over the solid wall of his chest, and I swear I feel every sculpted ridge like it’s carved from stone. He’s all hard lines and tensed muscles. His broad shoulders flex under my palms. His chest is firm, and the feel of his abs makes me moanin his mouth as I trace them down to that dip of the delicious V that disappears beneath his jeans.
His fingertips graze my shoulders, and it’s such a soft touch that it sends a full-body shiver straight through me. He pushes the thin straps down my arms, and I swear his eyes follow the path they take like he’s memorizing the moment. The fabric slips down, catching at my hips for just a second before falling to the floor in a soft whoosh, pooling at my feet.
He steps back, just a step. Just enough for me to admire his bare chest.
