Wild(55)

            When he grabbed me and whirled me around, I started to tell him just what I thought about his inability to keep his hands to himself, but I didn’t get very far before he released my shoulder and grabbed my face. Words died in a sputtering choke as I stared into those dark blue eyes inches from mine, his big hands holding my face.

            “You’re right.”

            “About what?” I said distractedly, focusing way too much on that mouth of his with the deep indentation right there in the center of his top lip. God. I had tasted that mouth. I ached to do it again, only this time I wanted to run my tongue over the indentation. I didn’t do that last time. I wanted to lick and savor and nibble at it. Need for him strangled me and I knotted my hands at my sides.

            “I’m not used to girls turning their backs on me.” He studied me in the hazy orange glow of the bathroom’s light.

            “B-but you said I’d have to ask for this . . . for it from you. You said you wouldn’t touch me,” I reminded him, needing him to keep that promise now more than ever.

            “Sometimes plans change. They have to . . .”

            He brought his mouth close, his nose the barest brush on my cheek, our lips not touching, but I felt the puff of his breath as he spoke. “Do you know what you do to me, Georgia?”

            “I have a d-date,” I sputtered.

            Something dark glinted in his eyes, and I was struck with the knowledge that I was way out of my depth with this guy. He knew more. Had seen more. Done more.

            “Wrong answer,” he growled.

            “What do you want from me?” I bit out, frustration bubbling up inside me. I gazed at him helplessly, shaking my head.

            “You haven’t figured that out yet?” He stared at me, his eyes sliding from my eyes to my mouth, down my body and then up again. Alarm bells went off in my head.

            His hand circled my neck. “Fuck,” he growled. “Then I haven’t been clear enough.” His mouth slammed over mine.





            Chapter 13

            HE CLAIMED MY MOUTH in a bruising, teeth-clanging kiss. I tasted lime and salt, and I felt like I was drowning in the sea. My hands flew to his shoulders for balance, then in desperation, I was clinging to him when I should have been pushing him away. He knew this though and wanted to prove a point evidently.

            He pulled back slightly, his mouth a hairbreadth from my own. I inched forward, chasing that mouth, but he kept himself just out of reach, pulling his head back, making me come after him, tormenting me, forcing me to take what I wanted. Dimly I realized this, but I didn’t care. Not anymore. I was past caring. I only needed.

            With a frustrated moan, I grabbed his face in both hands and held him still for me. It was a giddy, headlong dive into sensation. I kissed him. I took. I claimed. Like before. He had sparked a fire inside me and those flames were burning hot now. I did what I wanted.

            I sucked on his top lip, my tongue finding that dent at the center . . . tasting it, loving it, savoring it with my lips, tongue, and teeth.

            My hands drifted down from his face, fingers curling into his shirt, bunching the fabric in tight fists as I rubbed my tongue against his. He made a growling sound and backed me up until we collided into the door with a thud, rattling the hinges and knob.

            I should have cared at the sound, at the noise we were making—anyone passing could hear and wonder. But I didn’t. I didn’t care. I only felt.

            The naughtiness and savagery of it thrilled me. I was making out in a bathroom in a house full of people with a guy who wasn’t even my date.

            I was wild and free and totally reckless.