same speed of my heartbeat,
waiting for the wrong boy to make the wrong night feel as right as Type.
It worked once, it will work again.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, airy, breathless.
Just like before.
Romeo’s hands slip under the hoodie, grab my hips, and press me back into the shelf. His fingers dig into my skin, a bronze gaze sliding down my face. Then his hands climb warm, riding up my waist, thumbs brushing the curve beneath my tits and fucking with my breath.
He’s tilting his head?—
Leaning closer?—
And then?—
His mouth's on mine,
tongue tasting me sweet,
lips sucking on my bottom lip.
His knee slides up between my thighs,
and he grinds slow.
Deep.
Fuck.
I bite his lip.
He moans into my mouth,
trying to lick the memory of Andrew right off my tongue.
Romeo’s nottryingto turn me on.
Heis.
He moves with a star-crossed curse in his blood—too slick-tongued to survive, too fine not to fuck.
Indecent as hell,
but Satan can take the fucking wheel.
I’m lighting up, heat flaming up my thighs.
My body arches into him
as if it’s forgotten who touched it last.
My hoodie rides higher,
bunched under my elbows,
stomach bare to his shirt.
