His denimed thigh slides against the bare curve of mine. His palm spreads at my waist, big and hot, pulling me in until there’s no space left.
He tastes like the root beer float we shared.
Vanilla. Sugar. Him.
Sweet.
Familiar.
Dangerously addictive.
He’s so attentive to my every move, every touch. He’s tuned to what I need, not just what he wants. I can feel it. And it’s intoxicating.
My hands drag up his arms. Hard muscle under worn cotton.
Heat. Strength. Everywhere.
Lord.
I hook my fingers behind his neck and haul him closer until we’re flush. His heart thuds against mine. Or maybe it’s mine. I can’t tell anymore.
The kiss changes. Slows. Deepens.
Everything else disappears until he stops.
“Wait here,” he murmurs against my mouth.
Then he’s gone.
Cold rushes in where he was. My body aches from the loss of him.
A lamp clicks on.
Warm honeyed light spills across the room.
He steps in front of me like something sinful.
I look up.
Wow.
His hair is mussed from my fingers. Lips swollen. Eyes darker. Heavy. Locked on me.
“Fun room.” His chest rises slowly and deeply.
I glance around.
Muted teal walls. A rounded cream vinyl headboard. Brass lamps with pleated shades. The air smells faintly like old fabric and clean summer sheets.
Cozy. Quiet.
Too innocent for what I want him to do to me in them.
I bite my lip. “Not as much fun as I plan to have.”
His smile turns lazy. Wicked.
“Oh yeah.” He steps closer.
