Never Been Kissed(72)

I take Leo away from the equation, and let Hunter choose between Mikey, Raph or Donny. He picks up Raph, grinning down at the glass. Interesting.

I pull out two Coronas, give ‘em a pour, and we settle in front of the TV, legs propped on the coffee table, plates in our laps. The man knows how to make some sweet grilled cheeses.

As the day progresses – I pop in more movies:My Cousin Vinny, Good Will Hunting, and 3:10 to Yuma. I laugh so hard, I nearly choked on my beer with Vinny Gambini, I cried when Will Hunting broke down, and my chin jutted high and proud when Dan Evans told his son that he was the only man that got Ben Wade to the train station.

By this time I’d drank three beers. Three. Beers. In Sera Delos land I might as well have chased tequila shots with vodka sevens. I was drunk, fuzzy in the head, tongue thick, no filter in my brain so whatever I thought immediately came out.

The glory that accompanies being drunk is I don’t care. I don’t care what people think of me, how I look, how I act and how that reflects on both myself and the friends I’m drinking with.

I can handle insults – convincing myself that all the memories associated with the temporary pain I would feel would disappear come morning, or remain fuzzy and unfocused enough that I can just forget them altogether.

I also become impulsive.

The empties sit on my glass coffee table, leaving rings of condensation behind, marking their spots like treasure chests. Lucky Number Slevin plays as background noise, as I formulate my plan. If this didn’t work, well, I wouldn’t remember it. If it did, I could break my own seal in the kissing department. Win-win.

“Hunt, you wanna play a game?”

Snuggled as I am against his side, I watch his throat work as he pulls on the neck of his beer. God, so manly and strong, and I have the insane urge to taste his throat, the salt of his skin, maybe even making him shiver.

Hunt smacks his lips together, his mouth glossy with residual beer that I know, just know will taste better than the Corona I just polished off. I pull in a breath through my nose, trying to settle my stomach, my jittery insides that are waiting, waiting, waiting to see what will happen next.

When he looks down at me, I pull his bottle away from his hands, putting on the table in front of us.

“Depends,” he says, staring down at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. It’s there, in the way his eyes seem to be smiling at me, and the way one corner of his mouth has kicked up, his cheek hinting at the presence of his dimple.

Bloody hell.

I tilt my head to the side, loving the feeling of his warmth, how I’m tucked carefully so very close to him.

“How about you be the teacher and I be the student?” Those words are mine. I own them and what comes next.

I’m sure my cheeks are pink, I can feel the heat building off my skin. My heart beats double-time, and my muscles are restless to move. My lower belly is being gently scraped by butterfly wings, tickling and strange at the same time.

He licks his lips, slow and deliberate. My core spasms at the invitation, at my need to follow his unspoken orders and put my mouth where he wants me to put it. God, God, God! His blue eyes have darkened, sexy as frak, and glitter with something like want. I’ve never seen someone want me before, but this, his face just as it is, I wish I could draw it, download it into my brain to open it whenever I want.

I know what I have to do.

My hands don’t shake as they move to his cheeks, palms tickling from his stubble, hot breath warming my hands, my mouth as I move closer and closer to him.

“I don’t know what you want,” he whispers, so close to my mouth now I can taste his words. Exquisite torture I make myself endure as penance for making him wait so long, for making myself wait so long.

I take my time in answering, watching his eyes come to sit at my mouth, then back up to look into mine. “I want to play a game. You’re going to pretend to teach me how to kiss.”

Hunt’s eyes go half-mast, a smug smile on his perfect mouth. His hands come to the middle of my back, stroking the ends of my ponytail.

“Baby, just kiss me. You can’t do anything wrong.”

Another flutter in my chest – excitement. He’s going to play if I lie a little.

I move up onto my knees, and swing a leg over his lap. The way his fingers dig into my upper thighs and his teeth flash makes me feel all-powerful, stronger than Odin, more cunning than Odysseus, and more beautiful than Aphrodite. I did that. Me.

“Sera, how much have you had to drink?”

Oh, my responsible Hunter, sexy and strong, and a little broken so he’s not perfect and never will be – just like me. I smell his cologne, clean sweat and whatever scent his skin is letting go of, enticing me to taste.