This was supposed to be for practice, not pleasure.
He searches my eyes while I clear my throat and cover my mouth with my hand. Partly to keep any more revealing sounds from coming out of it and partly to feel my swollen lips.
“That was—” Warren sits up straighter and removes his hands from my behind, “a pretty good start.” He’s out of breath and struggling to speak evenly and I have to admit it’s kind of adorable watching a grown man put on a front of indifference. Not that I have any room to talk.
I can barely hear myself over how loud my heart is thumping.
“Yes,” I nod and make an attempt at sounding analytical. “Very adequate.”
I remain as still as I can, not wanting to shift my weight or put any pressure down on him. Now that we’re not kissing, it’s a ridiculous position for a platonic conversation.
“We should . . .” Warren starts, but looks at me as if he wants me to finish the sentence for him.
Chug a glass of ice water? Take (separate) cold showers? Go to our (very separate) beds?
His jaw flexes and with nowhere else to put my hands, I let them rest on the tops of his muscular round shoulders.
“Try again,” he finally says between quick breaths. “You know, just to make sure we’ve got it down.”
Before he’s even done with the suggestion, my head is nodding frantically, and both of my hands inch closer to his neck.
“I agree. We should be thorough. You can never be too prepar?—”
He cuts me off by slamming his lips back onto mine.
I let out a tiny squeal from the force of his arms circling my waist and dragging me against him.
It feels wild, not fighting him for once. Despite our arrangement, I’ve been constantly reminding myself to keep him at arm’s length to protect myself. On the surface, it’s because of the drama surrounding our first date, borderline mortifying as it was. But what’s my excuse now that we’ve put that behind us?
On a deeper level, it’s because he scares me. All potential relationships scare me. But especially this one because of the way he disables my urge to hide.
Even more alarming is the feeling of being wholly seen and still desired. Hell, just the fact that he makes me feel anything at all strikes fear in me. I’ve been so guarded over the years that I haven’t even allowed myself the luxury offeelingat all. He’s already broken through that, even with my defenses up.
He might be carried away in this moment, consumed by the way our bodies move so well together. An emotional discovery for me if I’m honest. Because even as great as we feel together right now, if he came to know the real me, he’d lose interest like everyone else. I’d disappoint him.
That’s not a new revelation. I’ve known this to be true all along. And I know that my chronic fear of failure clouds my judgment at times—another moan rumbling through my chest while his grip tightens being a perfect example of that.
For the next few minutes though, I’ll live in this blissful state of delusion where I don’t have to worry that any of those things matter. I’ll kiss him to pretend the darkest parts of me don’t exist.
I mean,practicekissing him to keep my job.
Except, Warren’s lips have left my mouth, now roaming over my cheek as his hand skims my bare shoulder blade. It’s so euphoric, that I can’t help but want more, so I arch into his touch and tilt my head back.
As his mouth moves down and his tongue darts out to taste the sensitive skin on my neck, I know we’re beyond just a practice kiss. Hell, it’s moving beyond a kiss in general. My hips rock forward, and I realize that behind the zipper of his jeans, he’s rock-hard.
The last time I was buzzed off a few beers and dry-humping a guy sporting a boner under his jeans was under the bleachers during my senior year of boarding school. It was fun then, and it’s fun now, but also, how the hell did we get here?
One more intentionally placed roll of my hips causes Warren to suck in a sharp breath against my skin. All movement from him stills, save his ragged breaths. I’m panting too, but I can’t bring myself to back away. My eyes roll into the back of my head and I push down harder, savoring the addicting tingles that shoot all the way to the tips of my fingers.
The pressure of him right between my legs, right where my body is begging for release, is deliciously intense. I could almost . . .
“Shit,” he whispers with his head buried in the crook of my neck. “If you keep doing that, this isn’t going to end in a fucking kiss, sweetheart.”
16
SAVANNAH
My brain heard his warning, but my body wasn’t listening. I move back and forth again, this time bringing my head forward to recapture his lips. I have to. It feelstoogood.
