Page 14 of Penalty Kiss
I mean, Iamused to women of all ages propositioning me, but with her…I feel like fifteen again, a sophomore being asked to the high school prom.
Get a hold of yourself, Cam. Put on your swagger.
I lean forward. "I was thinking maybe some proper appreciation for your savio—"
She surges up and kisses me.
Not a polite thank-you peck. Not a grateful brush of lips.
This is fire and hunger rolled into a kiss that threatens to buckle my knees.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me down to her level, and I respond on pure instinct.
My hands slide to her back, pulling her flush against me.
Her mouth is soft and warm against mine. She tastes like mint and something sweeter, something that makes me want to chase the flavor for a long time.
Her body pressed against mine is all curves and heat, and when she makes this small, needy sound against my lips, every drop of blood in my body heads south.
I've been kissed by a lot of women. Models, actresses, fans who snuck into my hotel room, teammates' sisters who thought sleeping with me would be a fun way to rebel. I thought I knew what a good kiss felt like.
I was wrong. Turns out I've been settling for grocery store cupcakes when this woman is serving up five-star chocolate soufflé.
This isn't just a kiss. It's a claiming. A seduction. A demand. A promise wrapped in eagerness and delivered with enough fire to burn down villages.
My hand cups her head without conscious thought, pulling her closer until there's no space left between us. She's perfect against me, like she was designed to fit in my arms. Her fingers tangle in my hair, and when she tugs just hard enough to sting, I groan into her mouth.
She responds by pressing even closer, and suddenly we're not kissing anymore—we're devouring each other. Her tongue against mine, her teeth catching my bottom lip, her hips grinding against me with a rhythm that's going to kill me if she keeps it up.
And she does keep it up. She rolls her hips against mine with a precision that suggests she knows exactly what she's doing to me, exactly how the friction is making me harder than I've ever been in my life. I can feel every inch of her through our clothes—the soft swell of her breasts against my chest, the firm muscle of her thighs against mine, her core pressing against my erection with perfect, maddening pressure.
"This is…," she pants, but doesn't stop moving against me. "I know I'm crazy. But I need… I need—"
She doesn't finish the sentence, just keeps kissing me like she's drowning and I'm air. Her movements are unpracticed but enthusiastic, all desperate friction and breathy moans that drive me completely out of my mind.
My concussed brain is trying to process what's happening—stranger, alley, possible danger, thisisinsane—but instinct hijacks my brain. I back her against the brick wall, my hands everywhere, her legs wrapping around my waist as she grinds against me with increasing urgency.
"This… a good crazy or bad crazy?" I manage, my voice strained.
"I don't know," she admits. "But I want it."
That's all the permission I need. I back her against the brick wall, my mouth finding hers again, my hands mapping the curves she's been hiding under running clothes. She responds like she's starving, like she's been waiting her whole life for someone to touch her like this.
The part of my brain that's still functioning wonders if I should slow down, be a gentleman, take her somewhere private. But the rest of me is drowning in the scent of her skin and the sounds she's making and the way she fits against me like she was custom-designed for this moment.
She grinds against my erection again, deliberate and desperate, and I groan into her mouth. My concussed brain might be fuzzy on details, but my body knows exactly what it wants.
"Don't think," she whispers against my neck. "Please. Just don't think."
So I don't.
I change the angle of the kiss, and her gasp goes straight to my cock. I'm rock hard against her, and thinking? Not happening in this dark alley.
All that exists is her mouth on mine, her body pressed against me, and the way she's making these tiny sounds of pleasure that are making me throb and pulse.
I let myself get lost in the heat of her, in the way she responds to every touch like it's revelation. Her breathing gets more ragged, her movements more desperate, and I can feel her climbing toward a high that makes her quiver.
I want to take her right here against the brick wall. Want to strip away the running shorts and tank top that are the only things keeping me from worshipping every inch of her skin. Want to bury myself inside her until she's shaking and crying out, not caring who hears.
