“Yeah. So, like I said, it wasn’t even a kiss. It was like the opposite of one.”
“You know what I think?” he asked and leaned closer to me. I wished I didn’t enjoy the lack of personal space so much.
“What?”
“I think you’re full of shit.”
I sputtered, but no words came out.
“I also think that we’re going to kiss again.”
“We are?”
“Yeah, LoLo, we are.” Leaning forward, his lips trailed tenderly down my neck, and then back up to my jaw, until they finally stopped their seductive path beside my ear. “You know what else I think?”
“What?” I asked in a voice that was far too breathy and needy and lots of things I should’ve been embarrassed about, but hell, the synapses in my brain seemed to be misfiring the responses. Instead of “I hate Reed Luca,” they were all, “Ohh, Reed Luca… Kiss us. Yes, yes, yes, please kiss us.”
Jesus. I had to get it together. This was not supposed to be happening. I mean, this was Reed Luca. I hated Reed Luca.
“I think I’m dying to taste you, Lola.”
Okay… So maybe hate was too strong a word for him. I mean, I’m a nice girl. I don’t really hate anyone, right? Maybe I just dislike him a little…
“And I think you want me to too. Don’t you, Lo?”
Before I could even muster a response, or double-check the fact that I was actually Lola, Reed’s lips changed their path, down my neck again. Slowly sliding my shirt off to the side, he exposed my shoulder and took advantage of the newly revealed skin by pressing soft, openmouthed kisses to every surface inch of it.
Back and forth, he moved his mouth from that one exposed shoulder to my neck and back again, somehow making the mere inches of skin feel like miles. Deeper and deeper his kisses went, growing more seductive with each gentle lick of his tongue.
Goose bumps pebbled my skin, and my nipples grew tight and hard with anticipation.
“Hey, LoLo,” he whispered at my ear. I shivered. “You still with me?”
“Uh-huh.”
Oh, I was here, all right. I wasn’t sure why or how, but with the sensations running right through me from nipple to navel and below, I was sure I was.
“I want you to remember something for me, okay?”
Right now? my mind shouted, and he chuckled as though he heard it.
“When I do something, it’s because I want to do it.”
Kisses and warm, tickling breath straightened my spine and wiped my mind. “Okay.”
“Do you know what I mean by that?”
“Uh-huh.” I had no idea what we were even talking about.
He shook his head. “This is important, Skeets.”
I tried hard to focus, but fuck. Was he serious right now?
“When I do something, it’s because I want to do it. I need to do it. I fucking desire to do it.”
“Well…that’s a good rule of thumb to live by.”
I honestly had no idea what was even going on at this point. He could’ve been telling me that the bookshelf I bought from IKEA was actually a teleportation device and we were going to climb inside of it and go to Egypt, and I probably would have said yes.
“It is,” he said with a soft chuckle highlighting his voice. “And you know what?”
“What?”
“I want to taste you. I want to put my mouth on that pretty little cunt of yours and drink in every sweet inch—and I want to do it out of purely selfish desire. Not because I’m using this as foreplay so I can slide inside of you, or because I’m wanting you to return the favor, but because I can’t go another second without memorizing your taste. Knowing it like I know every single line of your scowl. Knowing it the way I hope to know your laugh and smile and all of the weird stuff that makes you tick. And you know what?”
“W-what?”
“I’m not going to stop until I’ve had my fill.”
Oh, boy.
His hands slid down my sides until his fingers gripped the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head. Unfortunately, that meant his mouth left my skin. His hands traced a hot path down my collarbone, between my breasts, until they reached my belly. Deftly, he smoothed the fabric of my shorts over the bones of my hips, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of him in no more than I had on the day I was born.
His normally tranquil blue eyes darkened to a deep gray as they moved over my body, taking their time, like he was memorizing every inch of me. Mine locked to his and moved with them helplessly.
“I think you know I’m not like most men, Lo. I don’t waste my time with games. I do what I say, and I say what I mean. And when I say I want to taste you, I fucking mean it.”