There’s nothing tentative about this kiss. It backs up his words and proves he’s been thinking about this for a while. Something liquifies within me, like all the bullshit and anger and grief I’ve been holding on to are melting away. My whole body relaxes as the weight lifts, leaving Thomas to wind an arm around my waist to keep me from falling off the bench and into a puddle on the floor. His other hand slides from the back of my neck to cup my jaw, keeping my mouth to his, kissing me like he’s tasting heaven. Like he’s already addicted.
Good. He should be. If this is a game, then I’m the grand prize. He’s lucky—not many have had the privilege of winning me over, and he’s managed to do it in the span of a few hours.
But I’m the real winner here because,fuck, does this man know what he’s doing. I can’t remember the last time I was kissed like this, which is a shame considering I nearly married a man who hadn’t made me feel this kind of way in years. Now, though? I swear my life force is returning, starting in all the places he’s touching and climbing through my veins, reviving parts of me I feared might be dead.
I must be supremely deprived if something as innocent as a kiss is setting me on fire. Then again, maybe it’s not so innocent, considering his hand has moved from my jaw to my throat, squeezing just enough that it has me breaking away with a gasp.
“Oh goddamn,” I mumble as my eyes flutter back open. Somehow, my fingers have curled into his shirt, and I’m tempted to drag him back to keep this going.
He’s already staring down at me, his hand lingering around my throat, but the pressure’s gone. It’s a possessive touch, one that has my thighs clenching, and boy oh boy—I like it a whole hell of a lot.
“Was that too much?” he asks, fingers trailing down to my collarbone and tracing the neckline of my dress. I recognize my own words thrown back at me.
I shake my head, struggling to respond as I blink my way out of the daze he’s left me in. “Just enough.”
The corner of his mouth quirks up; he’s practically laughing at my struggle for composure, though he’s enough of a gentleman not to bring it up. “I probably have lipstick all over my face now, don’t I?”
The question gives me something to focus on other than the steady throbbing that’s started between my legs. I clear my throat and scan his face. “Not a stitch.”
“Really?”
“I do a lot of recipe testing,” I explain, glad for the reprieve from the tension, though I’m sure it’ll be brief. “I don’t have time to keep reapplying lipstick after every bite. This shit doesn’t budge.” I drag my thumb across my bottom lip to prove my point, knowing the deep crimson isn’t going anywhere.
Thomas’s eyes once again drop to my mouth, following the movement. “Knowing that only makes me want to kiss you again.”
I pout, settling back into my attitude, letting it wrap around me like a familiar embrace. I can’t believe this man has me feeling more like myself than I have in a long while. Maybe some of the credit can go to the alcohol loosening me up, but I really do think it’s mostly him. “Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing?” I mock.
“At this point, Stella,” he says, “I’d invite the whole world to watch.”
He doesn’t bother teasing this time—he dives straight in. This kiss is hot and searching, and there’s something almost desperate about it. My pulse pounds, my blood rushes, and every nerve is flaming bright as I push myself closer to him. I’m the one addicted now, needing a deeper taste, so I palm his jaw to make sure he can’t pull away before I get the fix I need.
He’s more than willing to give it to me as he steals my breath. It escapes as a moan, and I’d be embarrassed by it if he didn’t encourage the sound, tightening the arm around my waist and letting me taste the lingering champagne on his tongue. If we weren’t in public, I would have crawled into his lap by now and wrapped my arms around his neck, unashamed and unabashed. I want to cling to the feeling of knowing I’m wanted, even if it’s just sexually. Even if it’s just for tonight. I needed this more than I knew. And as I’m slowly starting to realize, I needmoreof it.
It’s him who breaks the kiss this time, turning his head so that my lips drop away. It shocks me out of my sudden and overwhelming desire, a cold reminder that we might not want the same things tonight. After all, he was quick to accept my earlier wishes to just talk, and he only said he wanted to kiss me. He could be done with me now.
“Not bad,” I comment before he can say anything. I want to beat his rejection to the punch, because I can’t bear to hear it.
I drop my hands back to his chest, which rises and falls just as rapidly as my own. The smirk on my face is forced, but I hope he can’t tell. “I’d give that one a solid seven point five out of ten.”
He blinks, his previously parted lips dipping into an offended frown. “Seven point five?” he questions in exaggerated offense, but there’s a laugh he’s hiding. “Come on. That’s insulting.”
“What?” I bat my lashes as I pull completely away, leaning back into my section of the booth and squeezing my thighs together to disperse the heaviness that’s settled there. At least this way, I can keep my dignity by pretending I’m not disappointed that this is over. “It was nice and all. I just think you can do better.”
He watches me carefully across the space I’ve put between us. “And I think you’re lying. You liked that. A lot.”
“Sure, maybe I’m lying.” I glance around, looking for a waitress so we can order another round of drinks, something to help buoy the letdown. “But it’s not like you can prove it.”
When I glance back at him, there’s a challenge I didn’t expect lighting up his eyes. “Oh, I think I can.”
I nearly jump when his hand lands on my knee. The feathers on the hem of my dress tickle me as his fingers drift higher, disturbing their careful placement.
“If I were to slip my hand under this pretty little dress,” he murmurs, his lips against my ear, “what are the odds that I’d find you wet for me?”
Fire blazes down my spine at the sudden reversal, but I refuse to give in so easily. Not when this might be a game of his own. Gone are my days of trusting easily and taking men at face value. “Slim to none,” I lie.
“Really?” The word is full of humorous disbelief. “Because I keep watching you press your thighs together like something’s going on.”
“Completely unrelated,” I brush off, trying to force my muscles to relax, but all of me has gone taut under his attention. “This booth is uncomfortable.”
