“I know what I’m doing.” He lowers his gaze to my mouth but drags it back up again quickly. With a groan, he closes his eyes as if he’s in pain.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, lifting my free hand to his bicep.
He blinks his eyes open and regards me, wearing a serious expression. “I’m trying really hard not to kiss you right now.”
“Okay?”
“My self-control is only so strong. And when you drag your tongue along your lips like that, what I’m hanging on to frays a little further.”
I didn’t even realize I had done that. But I know exactly what I’m doing when I set my coffee on the counter, hook my feet around his thighs, and pull him closer.
“You’re playing with fire, Hayley,” he says, his breath mingling with mine.
The way his lips form my name sends heat spreading through my body. “Maybe I am.”
“I want to kiss you,” he murmurs. His mouth is so close to mine, the movement is pure torture.
“So why don’t you?”
His responding groan is so guttural it’s practically a growl. “You asked for it.”
He claims my mouth, pushing his tongue past the barrier of my lips. I thread my fingers through his hair and hold him against me. His hands flex against my hips, searing me through the sleep shorts I wish would evaporate into thin air.
God, the man can kiss. Last night’s kiss absolutely was an anomaly, but only because this morning’s is even better. If that one blew every other kiss of my life out of the water, how could it possibly get better?
Does it get better? Keep reading to find out!
