Page 33 of The Girlfriend Game
The wet tip of her tongue rolls over the pad of my thumb seductively and enticingly. My body reacts like a caged lion waiting on its next meal. I’m desperate for her kiss. I’m desperate for her.
“Kendall?”
“Mmm-hmm?” she asks with a dreamy quality slicing through her smoky voice. That voice of hers is sexy.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” I tell her, leaning in close with my mouth to her ear, tracing the curve of it and breathing in her fresh linen scent.
Her whispered response is exactly what I’d hoped to hear.
“Okay.”
The pull of this attraction is far too strong to deny with logic and sensible decisions. Damn the consequences.
I can feel her pulse quicken as my lips close in under her jawline, and I slowly, gently, and intentionally make my way toward her mouth. When my lips meet hers, there’s no hesitation, just need and adrenaline as our mouths lock and something turbulent revs to life inside my chest like an engine of a plane kicking on ready for takeoff. My brain goes haywire with an urgent and unrelenting need to turn this kiss into one Kendall will remember for a lifetime.
A kiss that will turn the impossible into a possibility.
This is the woman I met as The Other Sister. This Kendall doesn’t hold back, but matches my intensity with her responsiveness as a husky groan rips free from her throat. She spears her fingers through my hair, tugging at the nape of my neck in a demanding request for more. Our kiss deepens as my tongue sweeps inside her parted lips to explore her mouth, darting and toying with hers. Sensation takes over and leaves me breathless.
The sound that she emits from deep within her is helpless and hungry, reflecting my own desires and need. Kendall rocks against me, pushing up on tiptoes as my hand wanders lower to cup her ass, pressing her into my growing arousal.
For a moment, the world around us dims, protected by a forest of trees. But then the sounds of kids and their giddy laughter douse cold water over the heat of our kiss.
We break free, each of us breathing hard, the eager hum of awareness whirring between us. I sweep my tongue across my lips, the sweetness of her lips still lingering there. When I drop my hand, she steps back, turning her head from side to side, reality filtering back in.
Arousal courses through my veins and my thickening dick savagely presses against my leg, demanding attention. I clear my throat, rubbing a hand over my bearded jaw.
“In the words of my therapist, ‘I’d like to explore that further,’” I joke, hoping to add some levity and earn a laugh from Kendall, who appears a little shell-shocked. But it has the opposite effect.
Her eyes linger on my face for a beat then drift to my lips. There are traces of simmering heat in her bright-green eyes, but it's quickly absorbed with recognition of our reckless moment.
Kendall unhooks the chin strap of her helmet, removing it from her head to let it dangle from her fingers. Her voice has cooled, no longer the warm sensual honey that dripped from her tongue just moments ago. It’s now brittle and detached.
“I—uh…this was a mistake. Clearly.” She traces her lips with her fingertips and then coolly swipes her hand across her mouth and grimaces.
Well, that sure does wonders for the ego.
I take a step forward, but it only serves to make her retreat two steps. I hold out my hands in surrender. I’m not a predator and she’s not my prey.
“Kendall. Please. Don’t overthink this. That kiss was not a goddamn mistake. It was Incredible. It was the best fucking kiss I’ve ever had.” I inch forward, holding out my palms to prove my intentions are worthy. “By my calculations, that kiss was weeks and weeks of shared intimacy that you must admit we have. Please don’t deny this.”
As if I just told her the earth was flat, Kendall shakes her head, lips tight, adamantly rejecting the truth right here in front of us. Whether it’s out of self-preservation or something else, her body language suggests we are not on the same page, but I think she’s lying to herself if she didn’t experience what I did. Because there is no way I’m the only one who felt that shift in the universe the moment our lips touched.
And I’m not about to let it go.
She begins to unbuckle the harness that’s still fitted to her chest and between her legs, her fingers fumbling over the latch and she grunts angrily. I drop to my knees, my hands deftly unsnapping the woven harness to free her from the confines as she shrugs it off with a huff, letting it drop to the ground at her feet.
When I lift my chin, my eyes plead with her to change her mind. I can see her indecision written all over her beautiful and confused face.
“Just let me go, Zeke. I’ll call for a car.”
She swiftly turns around and begins speed walking toward the front admissions entrance. Swooping up the discarded harness and helmet, I chase after her with no plans but to persuade her to slow down and take a breath. To chill and avoid getting freaked out over what just happened.
Ironic, isn’t it?
This is exactly the type of therapeutic medicine she would have prescribed to me. As my therapist, Kendall has taught me how to maneuver through times of great stress, when I get so worked up and think the world is closing in on me. The tools she’s given me have taught me to avoid focusing on the overwhelming nature of the problem, but instead to break it down into manageable bite-size pieces, taking it one at a time.
I understand why Kendall is freaking out. And now it’s my turn to help her work through it. Even though I may be the cause of it.
