Branded As Trouble(33)
Colt’s disgruntled snort forced her eyes back open.
“What?”
“The key to this game is concentration. I know you can do it. I’ve seen you with a tattoo gun. Focus.” His hands tightened over hers on the flippers.
She imagined his warm, rough palms sliding up her arms and across her chest. First he’d squeeze her breasts, then pluck her nipples between his fingertips. He’d keep smoothing those wicked hands down her stomach until they landed on her hips. His fingers would meet in the center of her body; one quick tug and the top button on her jeans would pop open—
“Are you even watchin’? Because you didn’t use your flippers once—”
She spun around so quickly he staggered, grabbing onto her shoulders for balance. “Actually, I wasn’t paying attention. It’s distracting when you’re pressed against me.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I liked it. A lot.”
The scant space between them crackled with energy. Neither spoke, neither broke eye contact. Several long seconds passed before Colt lowered his mouth to hers.
India’s head buzzed while his lips moved back and forth. Lightly. He kept the kiss soft, sensual. Rough thumbs caressed her cheekbones before his fingers tunneled into her hair.
He canted her head to his liking. Teased her with soft lips and sharp nips of his teeth and warm breath, sweet there-and-gone kisses. His hands began traveling down her body. He slicked the very tip of his tongue across the seam of her lips and her mouth opened to him.
India boldly thrust her tongue in further, hoping for a stronger, more complete flavor. He tasted faintly of root beer and toothpaste; with an underlying hint of spice she’d associated as uniquely his.
Colt gripped her hips and pressed his pelvis closer as he maneuvered her against the pinball machine.
A sharp pain jabbed her spine. “Ouch.”
“Hang on,” he muttered against her throat, hoisting her on top of the pinball machine. Urging her knees open, he positioned himself between her thighs and clamped his mouth over hers with renewed fervor.
Lights flashed, bells clanged and India knew it wasn’t from the arcade games. His cunning hands and hot mouth unleashed a steel ball of desire and it broke free to ricochet wildly in her blood. She wanted the heat bubbling under her skin to ignite his. She let her head fall back as he trailed openmouthed kisses down her neck.
His hot breath scorched her. He yanked her shirt down, exposing more skin to run his tongue and his teeth over without impediments.
She shivered and squeezed her thighs tightly, trying to line up the wet, aching part of herself with his cock.
He circled his arousal against her, finding the perfect friction, and took the next kiss down to where she felt it in the very depths of her soul.
“Hey!” A gravelly voice barked. “I warned you kids once about messing around in here.”
India opened her eyes and focused on Colt. She’d never seen such hunger on a man’s face. Hunger for her.
The intruder shuffled closer and said, “Well, hell, you two aren’t exactly kids.”
“We’re aware of that.” Colt kept his gaze on India as he helped her slide off the machine.
She stood next to him on wobbly legs.
“You oughta act better than this. It’s those damn teenagers I usually hafta worry about.” The man’s jowls shook. “Found a used condom behind that pinball machine. Had to close the place down to clean every horizontal surface.”
He glared at the pinball machine behind India, looking like he expected her to pull out a bottle of Windex, a roll of paper towels and wipe her butt prints off the machine. His bulk shifted as he waited for an explanation for their behavior.
But India shot the man a flinty eyed stare. “So, we got carried away. I swear we weren’t to the condom stage…”
Yet.
The unspoken word hung in the sexually charged air.
The fat man snarled, “Get out.”
Two weeks would kill him. Hell, they hadn’t passed the two-hour mark without mauling each other. In public. Getting kicked out of an arcade for lewd behavior. For Christsake, they were adults!
Yeah. He sucked at this dating stuff as much as India did. Which reinforced his determination to see it through. To the end. Twelve days. Two hundred and eighty eight hours.
Not that Colt was keeping track.
They returned to the table as their pizza arrived. For the next hour, the conversation wasn’t different than the other times they’d gone out as friends.
With the exception they were holding hands.
With the exception they were making googly eyes at each other and lacing their banter with sexual innuendos.
With the exception Colt’s cock was as hard as a hockey stick.