Cade
Tasha was stunned, and to be honest, so was I. I liked stunning her.
Her “kissing” exercise worked just fine. The feel of her lips imprinted in my brain, fusing every cell as if they’d melted under the heat we created from that simple closed-mouth kiss. I wondered what would happen if we added tongue. I tightened my grip on the back of her neck, giving her the opportunity to back away if she changed her mind. Then she showed the first sign of resistance, and I changed mine.
I’m going in anyway.
Tugging her close, I slanted my mouth over hers. A small, feminine sound squeaked in her throat and my chest unfurled like a banner. I took advantage of her reaction and deepened the kiss, sliding my tongue along hers.
She tasted amazing. Sweet and perfect. Hot and wet.
Not to mention that she fell into me, one hand braced on my thigh, the other on my chest—sitting there like a brand. Our tongues touched tentatively at first, then more aggressively. Now we were moving in slow, smooth slides.
She made a fist, clutching my T-shirt and tugging me closer. I liked that she pulled me closer. I liked her eagerness about as much as I liked everything else about her. I closed my eyes, the warmth of the sun on my face, the soft tickle of her hair brushing my cheek as she slanted her lips over mine. I started this kiss, but it was Tasha who had taken over.
The air around us was choked with her shortened breaths, our sipping lips, and the rustle of clothing as my shirt rubbed against hers. As my jeans chafed against hers. There were way too many articles of clothes between us, and I was feeling acute regret that we hadn’t climbed the stairs to my over-the-garage bedroom instead of coming here to do some very public groping.
She pulled away first this time, and really she had to be the one to pull away first, because I sure as hell wasn’t doing it. Her lips left mine with a suctioning smooch, and the best part was when her big, blue eyes hit mine. They were filled to the brim with lust. My therapist was no longer viewing me as an ill-behaved student.
“Oral therapy,” I said, and slipped my palm away from her neck, letting my fingers graze her collarbone. Her skin was soft. I wondered if she was that soft everywhere.
She straightened her clothes like she needed to occupy her hands now that they weren’t pawing me. Hiding. Covering. I knew the tactic well, but I didn’t want her to hide or cover. I just wanted to do it again. She cleared her throat and reached for her bag, digging out a pen and a pad of paper.
I frowned.
“What’re you doing?” I asked.
It was her turn not to answer me. She scribbled for a while and I sat back on the blanket, my hands behind me. I looked up at the sun, watched the leaves of the trees wave in the soft breeze. A couple walked by with a dog.
By the time Tasha stopped frantically jotting, I decided I wanted to know what she had to stop kissing me to write down. I snatched the journal from her hands.
“Hey!”
I held it out of reach when she came for me.
“It probably won’t make any sense to you,” she said, making a swipe for the notebook again. I climbed to my feet and held out an arm, blocking her when she followed.
Her loopy handwriting was easy to read. I understood just fine.
Slight hesitation before the kiss.Able to speak a few clear words after the kiss. Enunciated TH sound in “three” without a problem. Asked a full question without any stammer or hesitation.
I slapped the journal shut and turned to face her. That’s what had been going through her head while I had my lips pressed to hers? She was serious about this being an experiment. I assumed she was reacting to what was happening between us. Knowing the perceived attraction was nothing more than a tested theorem took a huge chunk out of the wobbly confidence I’d grabbed onto.
Looking chagrined, Tasha stopped reaching for the journal and took to toying with a ring on one finger instead.
“Don’t be mad. I wanted to write down what I learned so I didn’t forget.”
Don’t be mad? When she’d sterilized the kiss that had shaken me to the core? She’d turned me into a goddamn science experiment.
I glared at her, hoping she could read the words on my face so I wouldn’t have to attempt to say them. I hadn’t been thinking about speaking earlier, and because I wasn’t thinking about it, the words had come out fine.
Without stammer or hesitation.
Now I was thinking about it. Hard. And she was watching and waiting. Knowing I was under her scrutiny made me even less inclined to participate in her outdoor laboratory.
I handed over the journal and then opened my palm.
Cradling the book, she regarded my hand. “What?”