Refuse.
But before I even get the chance to right myself, Quinton’s hands latch onto my hips and pull me down onto his lap.
“Are you alright?” His gaze drifts down my body trying to see if I’m hurt. His hand reaches for my ankle that got caught up in between his legs.
“Ye—” I start, but the word gets stuck in my throat when his strong hands pull my legs onto the couch and start kneading into my ankle.
My mind goes blank and my eyes are glued to his fingers as they latch onto the hem of my leggings and slowly push them above my calf. He keeps his hands on my legs as he drags them back down to start his massage again.
Every muscle in my body—muscles I forgot I even had—are clenched. The silence in the room is only punctuated by the sound of my heavy breathing, which I can’t seem to get under control. Goose bumps trail his every touch and my body is betraying me. No matter how hard I’ve tried to convince myself that I don’t have feelings for him, one touch is all it took for me to forget it all.
The circles his fingers make across my skin are hypnotic. I couldn’t look away even if I wanted to. Seeing his dark skin against mine is going to be what I dream about from now on. We look like the Reese’s I just ate, chocolate and peanut butter . . . my favorite combination.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” his hoarse voice whispers into my ear.
I’m pretty sure I have fallen into a sugar coma and this is all my imagination. I keep my eyes on his hands, afraid that if I look away, I’ll shatter this wonderful fantasy I fell into.
But when his hand leaves my ankles and drifts to my chin, turning my face to meet his, I know this is real life. Because not in my deepest fantasy could I dream up the way he’s looking at me right now. There’s a fire behind his eyes that I’ve never seen before. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as his hand falls down my back, and we just stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.
Our breathing getting heavier with every second that passes by until he finally breaks the silence. “I’m going to kiss you.” He leans in and his breath dancing across my lips causes shivers to run down my spine. “So if you don’t want that, say it now.”
I move my gaze from his full lips, wanting them to touch mine more than I’ve wanted just about anything in the entire world, and look him straight in his eyes. “I want it.”
The words are still on my lips when his mouth touches mine.
I might’ve been drunk that last time we did this, but I was not wrong when I remembered how lush his mouth was.
The kiss starts out gentle. As though we are both waiting for the other person to say what a terrible idea this is and put a stop to it. Thank god, neither of us does.
His full, soft lips drop feather-light kisses onto my mouth. They are so sweet, I feel a pang in my chest. I twist in his lap, bringing my legs around so that I’m straddling him. I don’t know if this will ever happen again, so while I have it, I’m taking it. All of it.
I link my hands behind his head, holding onto this ride for dear life and he seems to take that as a hint that I want more.
And how right he is.
His giant hands take up almost my entire back and pull me into him, pushing my chest into his and his mouth onto mine. Long gone are the gentle kisses. His tongue darts out, licking the crease of my lips and then takes advantage when my mouth instinctively falls open.
His firm tongue takes over. Dancing with mine as we explore this thing I’ve been wanting for so long. I let him take over as my hips grind against his. I’m at the mercy of his mouth. When he takes my lip between his teeth, letting it go ever so slowly as he tugs my ponytail, I think I might explode.
“Holy shit.” I’m panting as though I’ve just finished sprinting. “I was not expecting that.”
It was actually the last thing I ever expected to happen tonight. Which is why I’m sitting on his lap in leggings, a sweatshirt, and not a drop of makeup.
“It’s all I’ve thought about since you kissed me in my car.” There’s a huskiness in his voice that would tell me just how affected he was by our kiss . . . if the bulge in his pants hadn’t already clued me in. “Probably longer if I’m honest.”
“What? You’re such a liar.” I lean back. I want to stay in this lust-filled bubble we’re in, but I also know that’s total bullshit and I can’t not call him on his shit . . . no matter how good of a kisser he is. “The first time we met, you told me I wasn’t your type. And you’re the one who stopped the kiss last time!”
“I’m not a liar. At least, I’m not lying now.” His fingertips sneak beneath the hem of my sweatshirt and start to draw lines across my back. “I was definitely lying when I told you you weren’t my type. I was having a shit day and I was dreading meeting with the suit Mahler was sticking me with. The last thing I needed was him to walk in while I was flirting with a beautiful woman when I was supposed to be focused on damage control. And I only stopped the kiss because you seemed pretty drunk and I didn’t want you to regret anything the next day.”
The little bit of breath I have left leaves with a whoosh as I try to reevaluate
