Despite everything I tell myself, that I shun chaos, that I crave order. That I don’t need a man after having my ex cheat on me last year, that I can heal myself with a thoughtful, mindful, focused existence, I crave this.
I crave him.
This is what I choose to do in this moment, I tell myself. In this moment of absolute, mind-bogglingly poor judgment, I kiss Rowdy on the mouth as my heart pounds.
His chest expands as he sucks in a shocked breath, effectively pressing his broad muscles against my nipples.
His arm slips around my waist, and he pulls me tighter, extending the hot, coffee-flavored kiss. The dark black taste on his lips mingles with the lavender sweetness.
It is intoxicating and perfect.
And all sorts of wrong.
So, I should stop.
Instead, the hand that’s been fisting his shirt lets go and travels up over his trapezius muscles until my fingers are on the back of his neck.
He makes a guttural, throaty noise at my touch there.
Rowdy pulls away for the briefest second, and the look he gives me is quizzical, like he’s checking on me to see if I’ve lost my mind.
Yes. Yes, I have.
But instead of letting me recover from this brief lapse in judgment, Rowdy abruptly pulls away further and sets his cup down on the coffee table in my sitting area, and then takes mine and sets it down right next to his. I look over at the two cups and think, he did that for me. He combed his hair and pressed his shirt. So much effort for a casual meet-up.
“Hey.”
I look up at him and his stare is intense. “Where’d you go?”
I lie, “I was just giving you a chance to run away and forget that I kissed you. We don’t ever have to talk about it again. Clearly, I’ve got issues, and if you wanna back out from being my date—my buffer…”
“Riley.”
It’s a statement, not a question.
“What?”
“Shut up.”
Rowdy’s other arm hooks around me, and his hand spans my lower back as his mouth captures my lips in a heated kiss.
Thank god.
Thank god he didn’t run away. Thank god he kissed me again. Thank god I don’t have to wonder about what he thinks of me for kissing him like that.
The tip of Rowdy’s tongue licks across my bottom lip. Softly.
Teasingly.
My hands meet at his nape as I open my lips to accept his tongue in my mouth.
The mingling taste is stronger now. He sweeps his tongue against mine, and warmth floods through me.
I drag my hands down to cover his hard traps at the base of his neck, and squeeze. He intensifies the kiss, plunging his tongue deeper into my mouth as his hands begin to roam under the hem of my jacket.
I need to get rid of this big, bulky thing. But once I do that, I will have truly lost control of the situation.
Maybe that’s a good thing.
