Page 24 of Blindsided
With a heavy sigh, I drop down on the bed beside her, shaking my head and staring at the floor. “The kiss couldn’t have been that bad.”
“It was,” she mumbles defeatedly.
“There’s no way,” I argue, glancing at her lips. “You have nice lips. Perfect for kissing.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she replies, her lower lip quivering slightly. “I am incapable of using them. I’m a wanker.”
“You’re not a wanker.”
“I’m a lip wanker.”
“How do you know he’s not the lip wanker?” I ask with a gruff reply. “Maybe you just didn’t have the right partner. Any man with a cheese hut doesn’t sound like he’s kissing a lot of burds.”
She turns a flat look at me. “I promise you, Mac. Even if I had the right partner, I would be crap.”
Now I’m getting angry. “Prove it.”
Her brows pinch together. “I’m not about to kiss my hand or something stupid like that just so you can take photos of me and use them for blackmail the next time you’re cross at me.”
“Aye, not your hand,” I reply, taking a deep breath before adding, “Practice with me.”
“Me,” she repeats with a huff. “Me, who?”
“Kiss me and I’ll show you that it wasn’t you. It was him.”
“I’m not going to kiss you!” Freya shrieks, her voice rising to a high pitch at the end. “You’re mental!”
“I’m not mental. I’m your best mate, and I’m telling you to kiss me so I can show you how it’s done properly.”
“It would be too weird,” Freya says with a nervous laugh as she shuffles to the corner of the bed, putting space between us even though there is a glimmer of intrigue in her eyes.
“It wouldn’t be weird.” I scoot over to her. “I’m a lad. You’re a lass. Kissing is natural.”
She swallows nervously and glances down at my lips. “You better not be taking the piss.”
“I’m not taking the piss,” I reply, my voice dropping lower as I shift closer to her so our legs are touching. She smells faintly of cheese. Curiously, my heartbeat increases.
Freya goes very still. “Are you sure about this, Mac?”
I take a minute to glance down at her lips. They are a nice rosy hue from the lipstick she had on earlier and rest in a perfect pout. How did I never notice how kissable they are until right this second? There’s no way she’s bad at kissing with lips like hers.
“Live a wee bit, Cook,” I state softly and lick my lips in preparation. I lean in, and her eyes whirl with worry but also something resembling anticipation. I have to fight back my smile.
I run my fingers along her cheek before combing them through her hair and pulling her face to mine. With one last breath, I touch my lips to hers, and she lets out a surprised squeak that makes me smile.
Despite my grin, I move my lips against hers, trying to get a feel for the softness and warmth. Her lips feel just as good as I expected, so I bring my other hand up to her face in hopes of coaxing her to relax into this. She’s being a cautious kisser. I hate cautious kissers. Kissing shouldn’t be safe. It’s an animalistic act. It’s connecting on a fundamental level that humans should embrace with their base instincts, not their minds. I know she had a bad experience earlier tonight, but I’m her best mate. She doesn’t need to worry with me.
Without warning, I plunge my tongue into her mouth, and she lets out another sound that isn’t quite a squeak. A moan, maybe? She grips my forearms as I cradle her face in my hands and continue to explore her technique. I’m doing everything I can to give her something to respond to, and I almost growl with pride when her tongue slips out and gently moves against mine.That’s it, Cookie. Let go. Let your gut take over and just give in.
With a shuddered breath, I tilt my head and deepen the kiss. She responds in kind, her lips sliding over mine as my tongue draws hers out to play. Truly play. Our tongues stroke each other in a perfect rhythm that’s ramping up to something resembling indecency. When her hand falls from my forearm onto my lap, and her fingers brush over my groin, I realise it’s not just our kiss that’s become indecent.
I pull back with a grunt, tearing my eyes from her lips and doing everything I can to ignore the damn near painful throbbing inside my shorts. I hunch over my lap, propping my elbows on my knees to hide my state.
“Christ, woman,” I croak and clear my throat, shifting away to give myself some space before my cock decides to spring through my jersey shorts.
“Was that bad?” she asks, her large breasts rising and falling with each heavy breath she takes.
I turn my back to her, willing my body to calm the fuck down before I come off looking more inexperienced than her. “Not bad. Good.”
