He drives his point home then. "Because I’m not."
I just sit there, frozen and speechless, unsure of what to do next. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not sorry at all. Deep down, I liked it. I remember that he felt nice, probably the nicest anything’s felt this entire weekend.
"You can kiss me anytime, Wendy." The way my name rolls off his tongue is so seductive. It’s not a sexy name, but when it comes from his mouth, it sounds like it is.
"I don’t know if this is appropriate," I whisper. It’s in total contradiction to what I’m thinking.
Bad Wendy.
But he’s just too darn delicious not to try. Besides, nothing is holding me back anymore. I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to repeat my mother’s mistakes by hanging on to a shitty man like Jett who doesn’t value a woman. I’d rather make my own mistakes. And by mistakes, I mean Cruz Velez.
The silence has stretched thin and long, I realize, when he reaches out to brush a strand of hair from my eyes to behind my ear. He leaves his hand there, his warm palm resting on my cheek.
I watch his chest rise and fall under his shirt. I know what I want. I want him. Even if it’s just this once. And when I look into his penetrating eyes, I see that he’s communicating exactly what I feel. Desire.
It’s like he’s offering himself up to me.
I lean toward him and feel the space between us almost crackle with sparks.
I let this moment linger, this moment just before the press of lips against lips. Take the baseball cap he’s wearing and pull it off. Visors always get in the way of kissing, so I’m preparing in advance.
I want to remember it later how it feels to finally get something this precious.
"I won’t accept any more excuses," he breathes out. His voice is a low, shiver-inducing rasp.
"I wasn’t going to give any. I was just going to kiss you while I’m sober. It’s not fair that I was drunk and you weren’t when it happened."
The corner of his mouth curls into a grin. "I’m glad we settled that."
"Me too," I supply cheekily.
He doesn’t wait. He presses his mouth to mine. Gentle at first, like a test. Like the first taste of something so rich and decadent, you don’t want to finish it, because it’ll hurt when itends. Still, you know it will. Then that first taste turns into more. Something wild, even a little aggressive.
We kiss for a while, taking our time, savoring each second. His lips are soft and full, and the stubble on his jaw is rough against my skin. His hand touches my hair first, then slides down and rests on my nape, and I can feel the calluses from the strings.
He tastes like coffee, a hint of breakfast, and something else I can’t quite pinpoint—something uniquely him.
I wrap my arms around his neck, my heart hammering in my chest as I shift in my seat to adjust my position. It’s been a long time since I felt this alive with a man, and I’m terrified at the fact that Jett’s never made me feel the things I’m feeling with someone I met two days ago. How is this even possible?
Cruz moves closer, at least, as close as the car seating will allow. Our bodies are pressed against each other and I can feel every inch of his hard, tense muscles.
We kiss until it’s difficult to breathe, so we break away for air, both panting heavily as we stare at each other.
"This is a bad idea," I manage to get out, and my gaze is suddenly darting everywhere but at his face.
"I don’t think it is."
"Oh yes it is. I’ve started something with you, and I don’t know if I can stop."
"You don’t have to." His hands cup my cheeks, his left thumb tracing the curve of my jaw.
The air between us sizzles with unspent energy, the rain pelting on the roof above us the only witness.
I tilt my head.
Kiss him again.
Tongue seeks tongue.
