Page 37 of Committed to You

“What are you doing?” I repeat as he moves me against the wall.

I’ve never seen the look in his eyes and before I can say anything else, he kisses me with so much fire, my head starts to spin.

“This is how you deserve to be kissed,” he murmurs between kisses, stealing my lips, teasing my tongue, pushing his hard body against mine.

I don’t want anyone except him, but I cup the back of his head and say, “I’m on a date.”

“A bad date.”

“It wasn’t until you hijacked me.”

He kisses me harder as the cells in my body combust into flames, melting any resistance I may feel toward him. His hands move up my tunic. “Because I reminded you what it’s like to really be kissed.”

“You’re so cocky,” I whisper as his lips move across my jawline and over to my ear.

“No, I just know what you need.”

I laugh. “What I need?”

“Yeah.” His mouth moves back on mine, and his fingers slide into my leggings.

I gasp as two of them glide into me, and his thumb circles my clit.

“You’re not wet for him, you’re wet for me,” he arrogantly states, but we both know it’s the truth.

The music is pounding against the walls, vibrating into my back, and my entire body is humming. I dig my hands into his shoulders as my whimpers become louder.

“That’s it,” he breaths out, curling his fingers in me.

“Oh God,” I yell out.

He circles faster as my insides clamp down on him.

“I’m the one who can give you what you deserve,” he growls as he sends me flying over the edge into euphoria, claiming my mouth as his own as soon as I start to come down.

In my current state of inebriation and the aftermath he’s put me in, I reach for his pants, wanting it all.

He grabs my hands. “No.”

I gape at him. “No?”

“No. Not here. Not tonight.”

I sarcastically laugh. “Now you’re rejecting me?”

He cups my face. “No. I’m not rejecting you. When we do this, you’re going to be sober and not have any regrets.”

“You might not get another chance,” I blurt out, as the alcohol still has me taking it personal instead of really comprehending what he’s saying.

“Then we shouldn’t be doing it if that’s the case.”

I sneer. “Well, aren’t you a saint, Mr. Gigolo.”

He shifts back, hurt. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Whatever,” I huff. “I’m going back to my date.”

“You do that.” He glares.

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