He frowned again, seeming weirdly hurt by the suggestion. “No love. I’m not trying to intimidate you. Not at all.”
“Then let me offer you a piece of advice. Invading a woman’s personal space will never NOT feel intimidating. Especially since we’re strangers and all,” I pointed out.
Lucas took a stumbling step backwards. “Fuck. Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t think— I wasn’t…” He looked crestfallen. His unfocused eyes apologetic.
I straightened up, smoothing my skirt. I was too drunk for this crap.
“Were you raised in a barn?” I quipped.
Lucas drew himself upright, or as much as he was able to while barely being able to stand. “I was raised by my mum and she did a bang up job. Don’t insult her parenting.”
“I’m not insulting your mother’s parenting. It’s a figure of speech.”
“You’re American, aren’t you?” he asked and I nodded.
“Well Miss America, can I kiss you?”
“What?” I asked, shocked.
Lucas’ eyes roamed over my body again before focusing as much as he was able to on my lips. “I don’t want to intimidate you, but fuck me, I want to kiss you.”
“You don’t know me,” I argued, feeling breathless again. And hot. Really, really hot.
“So?” He was breathing heavily. “Does it matter?”
He didn’t move but I felt the air around us tightening. Drawing us in. “So can I kiss you?” he whispered.
Something came over me. Something that didn’t make much sense. Something completely irrational.
I nodded.
“Yes.”
Lucas’ mouth crashed down onto mine before I could think about the intelligence of my decision. His hands came up to frame my face as he pushed me back into the sink, the porcelain hard against my back.
I pulled back sharply, wrenching my lips free. We were both breathing hard, our noses touching. “Damn,” he murmured, running his tongue along seam of my mouth.
“Yeah. Damn,” I agreed. And then he was kissing me again.
His tongue pushed between my teeth and in a moment of complete insanity I let him. I kissed him back with equal ferocity. I bit down on his lower lip and he groaned loudly, the sound too loud in the tiny space.
We kissed like we were drowning. My hands gripping the front of his shirt, his fingers digging into my hair.
My legs became wobbly and I was in danger of collapsing onto the floor.
“You taste amazing,” he moaned into my mouth.
“It’s the daiquiris. They were strawberry,” I told him. What was I saying?
“Stop talking,” he told me a little forcefully. He gripped the back of my thighs and hoisted me up onto the sink, my ass slipping into the bowl. I had to grab ahold of him so I wouldn’t lose all sense of decorum.
“Don’t tell me to stop talking,” I snapped.
And then I was moaning.
Because his hand was up my skirt, confident fingers slipping beneath the elastic of my panties. And then he was touching me. Deep. So deep.
This was way more than kissing.
