Page 136 of P.S. I'm Still Yours

I’m kissing Kane.

I don’t know how he got in or why he didn’t just settle for a quickie with Brooke, but he’s the one ravaging my mouth with his, taking my hips into a bruising hold and licking past the seam of my mouth with a groan.

I want to call him out for breaking every single rule we laid out, but all I can do is grasp at his shirt, holding his body dangerously close to mine.

One of his hands leaves my hips and climbs up my spine, landing in my hair and angling my head back an inch. The action causes my mouth to open wider, and the fucker jumps at the chance to slide his tongue past my lips.

I might not be able to see anything, but I can feel every bit of his smile when I let out an unintentional moan, and his tongue darts out to find mine.

It’s all too much for me.

His mouth, his hands tugging at my scalp, the pounding vessel in my chest. He is such a good kisser I have no chance of escaping him. No chance of even wanting to.

He breaks the kiss, and another gasp leaves me when a trail of cold foam is sprayed over my skin, all the way from my ear to my clavicle.

He just covered me in whipped cream, and when his guttural groan sweeps over my flesh, I read his intentions loud and clear.

My knees nearly buckle when he descends on my neck, my back hitting the wall behind me with a thud. He closes the space between us, slamming his body to mine. Then his tongue is gliding up the side of my neck, licking me clean.

Heat consumes me, and I throw my head back against the wall.

“Please,” I pant, and a low “Fuck” fills the darkness before Kane digs his teeth into my collarbone, nipping at my skin as if to brand me with ownership.

The next thing I know, a layer of whipped cream is stretching over my cleavage, and Kane is dipping his tongue in the dip of my breasts, one of his hands pushing against my hip bone before running his fingers along the waistband of my jeans.

God, I want him.

I want to let him do everything to me.

Whatever he wants, wherever he wants, whenever he wants.

If that’s not the most terrifying thought that’s ever crossed my mind, I don’t know what is.

He pulls back, drawing his finger up the side of my neck to gather the remnants of whipped cream.

“Open,” he commands in a low voice, and I feel his thumb sweep over my lower lip.

When I don’t open fast enough, he dips his index and middle fingers inside my mouth, groaning when my tongue latches onto them, twirling around the tips to lick them clean.

His other hand finds the base of my neck, and he pulls his fingers from my mouth, his lips grazing the side of my jaw. I can’t bring myself to put an end to his teasing, a hiss falling from my lips when he captures my earlobe between his teeth.

Running solely on instincts, I drop my hand to his pants, curving around his cock straining against the fabric, and the hand he has wrapped at the base of my neck tightens at the contact.

He’s so hard he’s probably super uncomfortable, but the thought doesn’t deter me from squeezing him until he groans with irritation.

He smashes his mouth back to mine the next second, his tongue dipping back inside without requesting access.

I thought his kisses were intense before, but the way he’s kissing me now? I can feel his resolve thinning with each stroke of his tongue. I run my palm up and down his stiff cock once more, and he wedges his knee between my legs, pressing against my clit ever so slightly.

I’m crazy enough to consider slipping my hand inside his jeans when…

An alarm goes off on his phone

I can’t see shit, but I do hear the growl breaking past Kane’s lips as he stops the alarm and pulls his body off mine.

It’s been seven minutes.

The absence of his touch leaves me in an uproar, a type of desperation I’d never felt before taking me under, but I don’t have time to voice my body’s protests because he slings the closet door open.

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