Both arms wrapped around me.
His face inches from mine.
“Sorry,” I stammer. “I?—”
“I want to kiss you. You. Exactly as you are. Not if youwere someone else. You wouldn’t be you if you were someone else.”
Oh.
I lift my face to his again.
“I shouldn’t want to.” His voice is hoarse and delicious. “But I do. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first night we met.”
My heart squeezes.
So do a few other regions in my body. “I was a mess.”
“You were fucking adorable. The memory of you and that chicken lives rent-free in my head. In the good way.”
Embarrassment would be the proper reaction to remembering the way I was hoovering a whole rotisserie chicken in my car, but he’s so sincere that I get a little hot in the eyeballs.
It’s special to feel appreciated even in your not-best moments.
“As far as I’m concerned, you still play lacrosse,” I tell the man who hasn’t let go of me since he saved me from tripping over the bathtub.
A hint of a smile teases his lips, and that’s it.
I’m done.
I can’t take this anymore.
If I don’t kiss him, I might die.
So I do.
I cup his cheeks in my hands and go up on my toes and press my lips to his.
His whole body shudders against mine, and then he’s kissing me back. Lips teasing and suckling. Arms wrapping tighter around me. His breath warm on my face, his nose touching mine.
The stubble on his face is just long enough to be thesoftest sandpaper, and when he parts his lips and touches his tongue to mine, I whimper in relief and deepen the kiss.
Finally.
Finally.
It feels like I’ve waited my entire life for this moment. Waited my entire life for this kiss.
Waited my entire life forhim.
He strokes my shoulders, his fingers brushing my bare back, and it’s my turn for goosebumps.
I thread my hands into his hair.
He lowers one hand to my ass.
I kiss him harder.
He makes a rough noise at the back of his throat, and then I’m against the wall, straddling one thick, powerful leg, the shower curtain slipping down, exposing my breasts to steamy air while his tongue strokes mine, hot and wet and demanding.