But this kiss—the second one—I don’t even know where my brain is located.
There are only hands and lips and the feel of an aroused Ben against me. I should be running for the hills, and when this is over, I likely will.
But for now…
I kiss him back.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Never been pinned against the wall, my hands held out of commission by strong fingers and even stronger arms. Never had my mouth devoured like it was the best kind of dessert as a firm male body reminded me exactly how female I am.
I try to remember that this is Ben.
I do.
And then his tongue finds my upper lip, flicking twice until I gasp, and his tongue slides inside my mouth, tangling with mine, and I forget that I’m Parker, and he’s Ben, and remember only that he is man and I am woman and that this is what we were meant to do.
I wiggle my fingers, twisting my wrists until he finally releases me, and my hands immediately go to his head, my fingers winding around his neck to keep his mouth close. His hands go to my waist, pinning me even more firmly to the wall as his hips tilt forward in a perfect reminder of what happens next.
And ohmigod, do I want what happens next.
I meant it when I backed off my crazy idea—because his rational explanation that we’d ruin a good thing made sense.
But I’m not caring even a little bit about sense right now.
Not when his mouth has moved to my neck, pressing hot, wet kisses beneath my ear, not when his hands have slid around to my back, moving over me in possessive strokes.
I want…him.
No, that’s not right. I don’t want Ben. I just want sex. Ben is merely the tool.
Right?
Right?
My brain doesn’t confirm this for me, and it sends me into a panic.
My hands find his shoulders and push back, slightly at first, then more urgently.
He pulls back, slowly, reluctantly, and I brace myself for his look of smug victory, but surprisingly he doesn’t look triumphant. He looks…confused.
Much like I feel.
I force myself to smile, suddenly desperate to take us back to where we’ve always been. Easy. Casual. Friends.
“Looks like you’ll have to watch The Bachelor reruns on Hulu for a while, huh?” he says.
His grin is just a little bit slower to emerge than usual, but when it makes an appearance, I breathe a sigh of relief.
“So?” he asks. “Still think it was gross?”
“It was okay.”
His palms are against the wall on either side of my head, and he slowly pushes back, putting space between us, and I’m both relieved and disappointed. “Okay?” he says.
“Okay, so you were right,” I concede quickly. “But so was I.”
“How do you figure?”
I flick a finger against his shoulder. “I told you that this could be better if you liked the other person.”