60
It’s a perfect fit, this kiss.
It’s a movie kiss.
Ahalfway through a romance novelandI’ve been waiting for this momentkiss.
The kind of kiss that obliterates the pitiable memory of every kiss that ever came before.
As Braxton’s lips move over mine, tasting, savoring, lingering, stealing my breath, my ability to think, I’m left dizzy, light on my feet, and hungry for more.
So much more.
But just as my fingers are sliding into his tousle of hair, Braxton is already pulling away.
“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft and breathless, his forehead pressed against mine. “Are you ready to put that behind us and just be friends?” His voice is light and teasing, but his gaze sears right through me, leaving no doubt that while he wants this to continue as much as I do, he’ll agree to walk away if I insist on following through with our deal.
But thankfully, I’m well past that nonsense. Under a sky lit with stars and a wink of moon hanging high overhead, I tip onto my toes, thread my arms around Braxton’s neck, and find his lips again.
This time, the kiss is softer, more tender. Unlike the mad rush of before, when we thought we had to cram it all in after agreeing to never do it again, we move slower, taking our time to get to know this side of each other.
Braxton pulls me closer. So close I’m burrowed deep inside his arms, my body straining against his, as his lips brush against mine. Playing, tasting, teasing, he kisses me so fully and deeply and well, I can feel the echo of every sweep of his tongue reverberating all the way down to my toes.
My tongue rolls with his, as his hands make a slow, torturous journey along the hollow of my waist to the undercurve of my breasts. There’s a question in his fingers as they trace along the bend of my ribs, and I can hear the words as clearly as though he spoke them out loud:is this going too far?
Oh, it’s definitely going too far.
Not to mention this is all moving way too fast.
But try telling that to my body when it’s screaming for more, more, more.
More of the sweet heat of his kiss—the delicious shiver of his touch on my skin. This boy has sparked a craving in me—a deep-rooted longing for the sort of unspeakable, blushing things I’ve only read about in books or seen in movies. The sort of glorious, body-shattering thrills taken by other boys before him but never once offered to me.
“Tasha,” he groans, and I open my eyes to find his beautiful face swimming before me. His eyes shadowed with secrets, lips shaped by desire. That bit of bend in his nose the only tangible truth he willingly offers.
It would be so easy to consent to this, to skip all the levels and claim this boy for my own.
But not yet.
Not so fast.
Braxton is an enigma, a walking storehouse of riddles, and I will take my time to explore all his mysteries.
For now, there’s so much more kissing to do.
I close my fingers over his and, with a small jolt of regret, lead them back to my waist. But when he crashes his mouth onto mine once again, I’m instantly lost in the wonder of his embrace.
“Tasha…” he breathes, his lips pressing a woozy line of kisses down my throat, grazing the line of my collarbone, as I bury my face in his neck, inhaling the sweet spice of his scent. An expensive, rare, custom blend of vanilla, cocoa, and ginger made solely for him—or so I imagine.
“Tasha, I—”
My eyes slide open, and his gaze latches tight. He’s on the verge of telling me something—something that’s making his brow crease, his confidence waver—when music suddenly blasts from out of nowhere and slams us back to reality, just like it did the night before, except this piece is different.
With a weary sigh, Braxton releases me and reaches into his pocket to silence his slab. “Mozart,” he says. “‘Requiem.’”
“Let me guess.” I tug on the hem of my dress and straighten the neckline. “It’s ten to ten.” When I raise my gaze to meet his, I find him looking at me, brow creased with concern.
“You okay?” he asks. “Because I need you to know, I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”