I open my mouth to correct myself, to say what I should say, even if it’s a lie, but before a single sound can escape my lips, he’s brushing his against them.
Andgod, they feel good.
Like they were made for kissing me.
I squeeze his hand and hook my other hand behind his neck, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.
This isn’t what I should do, but it’s what Iwant.
I want this funny, intense, vulnerable man. I want him to kiss me and come home with me. I want him in my bed. I want to laugh with him over coffee and tea in the morning. I want him to walk my dog with me. I want to show him my home, my town,allof it, and watch him fall in love withallof it the same way he fell in love with the view on our hike.
I want him to stare at me like he stared at the sunset.
I want to shield him from the people who hurt him and I want him to be the solid shield between me and the people who hurt me.
I deepen the kiss, leaning over the center console and into his space. A low, eager rumble in the back of his throat with his hands roaming lower down my back makes my vagina clench.
We’re in the far back of the lot.
Everyone else is inside.
No one will see us.
And that’s the thought process that has me climbing over the console and into his lap, where I’m squished between him and the dash.
He fumbles for the seat controls.
“Hands on me.” I lick his neck under his beard and reach for the switch. “Got this.”
“No interruptions.”God, that husky need in his voice.
It’s making my panties wet.
The seat whines and slowly, slowly,slowlyslides back to give us more room.
He snort-giggles, andoh my café au lait, is it adorable.
How is he this sexy and irresistible despiteeverything?
“Don’t do that,” I order.
“Do what?”
“Laugh.”
“You like it when I laugh.”
I shush him with my lips sealed over his, thrusting my tongue into his mouth until he makes that desperate rumble in his throat again. I shift in his lap so I’m straddling him and reaching down to recline the passenger seat at the same time.
We angle back sllllloooooooowwwwwwwllllly.
And now it’s me.
Now I’m kissing him and pawing at the buttons on his shirt with my free hand, and I’m the one snickering.
He snort-giggles again.
The seat millimeters back. It’s not even inching. It’s millimetering.
