Page 43 of Pucked Up Plans
“Will you?” she sasses back. My dick twinges.
I tug her over. Cupping her jaw in my hands, I state honestly, “Yep.” My one-word answer gets the reaction I was going for—shock—but I don’t let her pull away. “Because I won’t get to do it whenever I want.”
Any retort she may have gets swallowed by my lips. She lets out the tiniest squeak of surprise, followed by total surrender.
Her lips are soft, as I knew they would be. The remnants of tomato sauce linger, transferring to mine. She yields total control of the kiss, allowing me to devour her lips as I please.
As much as I want to misuse the control, I refrain from total domination. I lead our lips in a duel, a dance of sorts, licking, nibbling, sucking. It’s only after I can’t stop myself any longer do I seek entrance.
Her lips part enough for my tongue to sneak in. And I’m certain I’ve gone too far.
Not because it’s bad. The total opposite.
It’s perfection.
Tate’s mouth is the perfect combination of sweet heat, a place my tongue would like to call home for a long time.
My hazy thoughts recognize it’s not a possibility, so I relish the minutes I have.
Winding my hands in her hair, my tongue strokes the top of hers, and when she lifts it slightly, I do the same to the bottom.
The little moans escaping Tate urge me on, pressuring me to take everything she gives, to keep going, toneverstop.
Our lips tangle together. It should be awkward, bumbling, a first kiss between foreign mouths. But it’s quite the contrary. It’s like our mouths were meant to fuse, to come together like long-lost friends, a beckoning of something beyond our control.
My fingers fall from her hair when she stops the kiss, shoving my chest away, her attempt thwarted by the weak strength she applies.
“Need.” Gasp. “A.” Gasp. “Breather,” she expresses, a breath between words.
As disappointed as I am, it gives me time to take stock of my emotions, the high I’m feeling with one connection of our lips. My heart thunders in my chest, adrenaline coursing through me,lighting my insides. It’s a high, comparable only to skating in a championship game when everything’s on the line.
I slouch back into the couch, tugging her to my side. This time, she comes willingly, with no fight necessary. My fingers reach out to touch her hair, releasing her black locks from the messy bun.
“You’re beautiful.” My mouth forms the words I’ve been itching to articulate for a while now.
Her brown eyes roll. “Please. This is beautiful?” She waves her hand over her body. “Highly doubtful.” There’s a hint of skepticism in her voice.
“Incredibly,” I confirm, a nod of my head punctuating the point.
She’s not one of those girls who thinks more of her appearance, even though she could be. She really is gorgeous. And from what I’ve gleaned about her so far from our few interactions, it’s not just on the outside. Beautiful inside as well. I’m also sure she doesn’t accept compliments well, so I won’t push her to the point of arguing.
I’ll have to find ways to show her how beautiful she is.
CHAPTER 12
TATE
Walsh kissed me.
Me. Tate Winchester.
This hunky, muscular, extremely attractive man kissed me.
And damn, what a kiss. No one has ever kissed me like that in my twenty-two years of life. Part of me wonders if it was a fluke. Like some cosmic force pulled us together for this one kiss because surely, not all kisses can be like that. Right?
I mean, I wouldn’t mind testing it out at a future time.
“You want to watch a movie?” Walsh’s suggestion pops my thought bubble of more potential kisses. With Walsh. Kisses that lead to maybe more than just our lips coming together.
