I shoved the box into River’s hands, made fists in his sweater and kissed him. I kissed him hard, driving him back against the wall of the entry, silencing my thoughts at the same time.
River froze, dazed under my onslaught as I pillaged his mouth, taking and tasting with wild, deep sweeps of my tongue. Taking charge of my emotions for this fucking beautiful guy and channeling them into lust.
Blindly, River fumbled to put the box on the entry table and then his hands went to my waist, hauling our groins together. My erection sought his through my pants as our mouths mauled with biting, ferocious kisses. His masculine essence was mine; I drank it down, knowing I was the first. Reveling that no one had been here before, not the way he’d always wanted.
“Fuck,” he groaned, sounding pained.
I felt it too. Our impossibility battling with the fiercest want as our hands roamed and grasped, surrendering to the white-hot lust that ripped like a current from me to him and back again.
Finally, River gripped me by the collar, physically prying my mouth from his and holding me inches away, our breaths gasping over wet lips.
“I want to see you tonight,” he growled, his eyes heavy and lidded and dark as they dropped down to my mouth again and again.
I could only nod mutely and flicked out my tongue to lick his lips. He groaned in barely restrained hunger, holding us back from destroying each other in the entry of his family’s house.
“Where?”
“My place,” I said, feeling like I had at Chance’s party. Tempting fate. Stripping my chest bare and daring River to plunge a knife straight into my heart. “I’m in the guesthouse. It’s private.”
River’s eyes filled with thoughts and I wondered if it was too much, too soon for him.
Tell me to fuck off, River. Kick me out of your house, out of your life, once and for all…
He inhaled deep and tilted his chin.
“What time?”
Chapter Twelve
“What are you going to do?” Holden asked. And then I was grabbing him, kissing him. His tongue was in my mouth and mine was in his, and something lost in me came home…
“Hey, Whitmore? You still with us?”
I blinked out of the hazy, heated thoughts and into the glaring white light of the Burger Barn. At 7pm on a Saturday night, the restaurant was loud with the voices of dozens of conversations, and the hiss and spit of meat on a broiler.
Chance, Mikey, Donte, and I took up a booth made for eight, sitting spread out, arms resting on the backs of the seating. Baskets of fries and burgers were strewn between tall milkshake glasses.
“Dude, what’s with the dopey-ass grin?” Donte asked. “You getting some action we don’t know about?”
Chance perked up. “Oh, damn, are you? That’d explain why you’ve been acting so weird lately.”
Shit.
Mikey leaned in eagerly. “Spill it, Whitmore. Who is she?”
“Anyone we know? Give us a clue.”
A clue…
Holden Parish, in the band room, with his lead pipe.
A crazed laugh nearly burst out of me and I covered it with a coughing fit. I reached for my water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sure about that?” Donte asked. “You looked about ready to rub one off right here at the table a minute ago.”
“Fuck you,” I said, my laughter dying. I leaned back in my seat, casual as hell, and forced myself to say the words. “There’s no one.”
“I call bullshit,” Chance said loud enough that a mom at a nearby table gave him a warning look. “Something’s going on. And it’s not new, either.”