Of course he likes me, I tell her back while I thrust my fingers through Simon’s short hair and hold him closer and kiss him deeper.He wouldn’t kiss me if he didn’t like me.
And that’s what this is.
Mutual attraction.
Combustible mutual attraction leading to him pushing me back against the bus wall at the end of my kitchen while he grips my ass.
A window latch jams into my back. “Audience,” I gasp.
He stares at me, dazed, his hair disheveled, his blue eyes unfocused and aimed mostly at my lips, which are tingling with the need to be attached to his again.
I tug at his shoulders. “Lower.”
His gaze darts to my breasts, and I press my shoulders back without thinking.
Yes, please, kiss me there.
Like he’s reading my mind, his head lowers to my left boob.
Wait.
Was that what I—no.
I meant?—
Simon’s mouth and hot breath land on my shirt just above my nipple, and my head rolls back against the window while an incoherent noise comes out of my throat.
He lowers his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard through the fabric, and my clit sits up and takes notice too.
“Why—magic?” I gasp.
“Why delicious?” He peels my shirt up, ducking lower to kiss a trail up my stomach to my sports bra—a sports bra, Bea? Seriously?—and then he slides his fingers beneath the tight band, making my skin shiver and quake with his touch.
Fewer clothes.
He’s right.
Fewer clothes make this better.
“Better than my fantasies,” he murmurs against my skin.
My lips ache with the need to kiss him back.
And—windows.
Right.
Right.
“Simon—”
His thumbs stroke the underside of my breasts. “Yes, darling?” he says between open-mouthed kisses to my stomach.
My eyes cross.
My brain goes blank.
Do I even have a brain?
