I shiver, and my eyes shut, incredible ease flushing through me as he coaxes my lips to meld with his.
He breaks the kiss too soon, his fingers drifting away from my chin to rest in his lap. He threads his hands together, keeping his eyes on me. “Sorry. I didn’t ask for consent or anything.” His throat clears. “I hope I don’t lose my title as a gentleman.”
I don’t know what to say. What can I possibly say? I want him to kiss me again. Really kiss me. Not whatever that chaste touch was.
He rubs his neck, offers a toying half-smile. “A private stolen first kiss beats the one you were worried about, right? It’s not like I could find you a real boyfriend over the weekend or anything.”
Stolen touches in the moonlight.
Charcoal asphalt and streetlight.
Just a brush that I’ll miss in the morning after this.
My first kiss.
Flushing, I slap my hands to my mouth. Lex kissed me. However chaste,Lexkissedme.
Casually. Like it was nothing.
With my glasses on the dash, I can’t see anything outside the car. It’s a blur of dark, misty shapes. And then him. Only him. He’s crisp and perfect, like a portrait.
“Casanova,” I blurt.
His brows shoot up before they slam down. “No. Don’t listento Jason.”
“What? Why shouldn’t I?” My heart is racing. “You did that like it was nothing! How many girls have you kissed?”
He winces, and suddenly I don’t want to know. Raking his fingers through his hair, he rolls his eyes. “Too many. Doesn’t matter.Thatwasn’t nothing.”
“Oh,really?” I sass.
He glares at me. “Yeah,really. You’re my precious little sugar glider. As if kissing you means nothing.”
Breathless and frantic, I say, “I don’t believe you.”
His hands catch my wrists, and suddenly he’s wrestling me over the center console, prying my palms away from my mouth and pinning my arms to the seat. “Watch it. I’ll do it again. Harder. You won’t be able to get it out of your head for weeks. You’ll probably fall in love with me on the spot.”
I stare at his face, too close to mine, the spark in his eyes that’s back to beingmyLex’s. When his lips pull into a satirical grin, I break. Moving my head off the seat and closer to him, I whisper, “I dare you.”
“Begging, sugar? That hardly seems in character,” he murmurs, his hold on my wrists tightening, then twisting. His hands slip up, his fingers twining around mine. “Maybe if you say ‘please’ I’ll be convinced.”
Can he tell I want him? Is he testing my limits so he won’t have to follow through? I can’t find it in me to care.
Flicking my attention to his lips, all I want to do is taste his smile. “Please.”
His breath stutters, his hold on my hands clenching.
I close my eyes and wait.
One hand slips out of mine, and I’m ready to believe he’s giving up the joke, moving away, sitting back down. In minutes, the car will start up, and he’ll be taking me home, chastising me about being careless or unexpectedly promiscuous.
He tips my chin up. His thumb swipes across my lips.
A tiny gasp escapes me, parting them. I keep my eyes closed, my heart pounding with anticipation I’m almost certain he can hear. He’ll find out. He’ll realize I’m too eager. But I don’t care. I can’t care. Not if I want him to make me lose count of which kiss happens on stage, in front of everyone, and how many have happened in secret. Right here. Right now.
His lips touch mine, and a soft sound pulls free when I manage to take a breath. He whispers a curse against my mouth, guiding my movements. I taste his breath when he presses his thumb to my chin, opening the way for him to go deeper.
I vibrate. Every inch. And I cling to his hold on my hand while he kisses me, every soft motion skilled, practiced, but mine. At least right now,mine.
