Page 96 of Snowed In
“I take it back,” he says. “I don’t like this dress.”
“It’s not the dress’s fault,” I protest, as his hand slides behind my neck. “It didn’t know.”
“Next time we—”
“Next time?” I tease, and he bites my bottom lip.
“You’re mouthy when you’re turned on. You know that?”
“This is where I make a joke about mouths,” I say. “And how good I am at—” I smile into the kiss as he presses me into the seat. “Hold me down again,” I order, and he does, gripping my wrists as our lower bodies press as close as we can to each other, straining against our formal wear. But it’s not enough. It is extremely not enough.
“I need…”
“What?”
I don’t know. Friction? Fingers?
When I don’t respond, he goes back to kissing me, and his left hand leaves my wrists to slip behind my back and catch the zip. I curve my spine, arching into him as he pulls it, revealing my breasts. Or at least he would have if I didn’t have a band wrapped around them.
“What’s that?” he pants, glancing down.
“It’s boob tape.”
“What?”
“I can’t wear a bra with this dress. It would ruin it.”
“Megan.”
“But the girls are a little heavy,” I explain. “They need support.”
He gives me an exasperated look. “How do you get it off?”
“Carefully,” I admit, and his eyes close briefly before he drops his forehead to my chest, pressing a hot kiss to the top of my cleavage.
My hands go back to his hair, spearing through the strands as he palms my breasts, grazing my nipples through the tape as he tugs down the—
“Careful,” I say, and he freezes. “With the dress,” I clarify. “It’s your sister’s project.”
“Please don’t mention my sister right now.”
“Please be careful with the dress,” I counter, and he sighs, though it comes out as more of a pant the way his breathing is so heavy.
“We could take it o—”
“No,” I say sternly, and the hopeful expression on his face drops so quickly I laugh. “We can still…you know,” I smile, bringing his head down to mine. But whatever person the universe is rooting for, it is clearlynotme tonight, as no sooner do our lips brush than a fist knocks sharply on the window, making me yelp.
Christian immediately covers my body with his, shielding me from whoever’s outside.
“Get a room,” someone yells as laughter sounds, and I quickly pull the fabric back up before stopping a murderous-looking Christian from opening the door.
“They’re already going,” I say, and he glances back at the smile in my voice.
“It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” I whisper, and he looks at me for a long moment before groaning.
“If you tell me this was a bad idea, I swear to—”
