“Dax.” I gasp and grind against him, grateful for the wall at my back, for the delicious angle that lets me grind against him just like that?—
“I’m close,” I gasp, astonished it could happen so soon. He slams in harder, and the sensation grips me, yanking me over the edge and into another dizzying bliss spiral.
“God, Lisa,” he groans, and I feel him let go, too. His fingers clutch my ass, and he pumps me with such force I see glitter behind my eyelids. He gives a soft groan, and stiffens in my arms, between my legs, driving into me until he’s spent.
We both stand there panting for a few heartbeats. Well, he’s standing. I’m still pinned against the wall with my legs around his waist, so I slowly lower myself to the ground and tug down my skirt. I straighten my Mötley Crüe shirt and avert my gaze while Dax gets rid of the condom in a nearby dumpster.
The fact that I’ve just had sex less than five feet from a dumpster should alarm me. It should make me feel like trash.
Should, should, should?—
How much of my life has been driven by that word?
Dax returns to my side and gives me a smile that’s almost sheepish. It’s an odd shift from the alpha aggressor who drove into me with such force only seconds ago, and the contrast makes me smile back.
“Hey,” I murmur, trying to play it cool.
“Hey back,” he says, and kisses the side of my neck. He kisses my chin, too, then presses his lips to mine for the slowest, deepest, softest kiss imaginable. When he draws back, we’re both a little starry-eyed.
“Sorry we didn’t get to fulfill all your fantasies,” he murmurs. “The bootylicious one?”
My cheeks go warm, and I glance down at my toes. “There’s still time.”
“Definitely. Before this is all over, I promise.”
The words are hopeful, but their finality sends me crashing down a wall of disappointment. It shouldn’t be that way. We pledged to end this after thirty days. To get what we needed from each other and walk away with a handshake at the end.
Am I starting to change my mind?
I nod, not sure whether I’m answering Dax’s question or my own.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Before this is all over.”
Chapter 12
Dax
As we climb the steps to the museum, I reach for Lisa’s hand. Our fingers lace together like a matched set. It’s not until she turns and smiles at me that I realize what a relationshippy thing I’ve done.
Then again, this is sort of a date. Today’s outing has nothing to do with The Test, and I’m not sure how to feel about that.
“Here we are,” she says, reaching for the front door. “You have the tickets?”
I nod and pat the pocket of my shirt. It’s the only dress shirt I own, and I’m not sure what it says that I’ve donned it today for Lisa. “Got ’em,” I tell her. “I still can’t believe I let you drag me to some swanky gallery party.”
She rolls her eyes and pulls open the door. “I told you, it’s not a swanky gallery party. It’s an opening for a new art exhibit. One I think you’ll really like.”
There’s a part of me that wants to mutter like a surly jackass about being cleaned up and towed to a highbrow arts and culture affair like a monkey in a suit.
There’s another part of me that loves the idea that Lisa’s chosen something special with me in mind. That she put “Dax” and “art” into the same sentence and didn’t bust up laughing.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me along through the stark white corridor. “The cocktail lines at these things are always huge, so I want to beat the crowd.”
“Far be it from me to get between Lisa Michaels and a fancy cocktail.”
She grins at me as she turns a corner and halts in front of a large easel. “Here,” she says, pointing at the sign. “This is what we’re going to see.”
I stare at the words, absorbing the significance.
