It’s like Easton is trying to devour me as he lays claim to every inch of my mouth. Utterly consumed with the man I love more than anything, I lift my arms and wrap them around his neck, clinging to him as if my very life depends on him.
I lift onto my tiptoes in an attempt to get as close as possible to him. With every stroke of his tongue and nip of his teeth, tingles crash over me like waves until I’m a breathless, needy mess who’s willing to do anything for him not to stop.
Easton’s hands glide down my sides, and when he reaches my butt, he grips me tightly, and I’m lifted off my feet. Without breaking the kiss, he takes a few steps until my back is pressed against the nearest wall.
Holy crap, this is a dream come true.
One of his hands moves to the back of my thigh, and he lifts my leg. I quickly hook it around the back of his, then the meager air I’m able to breathe in between kisses explodes from me as he thrusts against the overheated spot between my thighs.
He feels incredibly hard and big, making a fire ignite in my abdomen.
So good.
Easton moves his hand from behind my neck, and he grips a fistful of my hair. My head is tugged back, and I lose his mouth to my throat, where he bites and sucks at my sensitive skin.
“Easton,” I moan, my hands coasting over his shoulders before settling on his muscled chest.
He leaves a trail of kisses up my throat and jaw, then his teeth tug at my bottom lip before his tongue drives back into my mouth again.
God, how have I survived so long without experiencing this kind of kiss?
The heat and hunger coming from Easton shine a stark light on the barren life I’ve lived up until this moment. All the loneliness, feeling like I never belonged, settling for bastards who abused me—it all feels so cold and brutal now that I get to experience the real thing.
Only, it’s not the real thing.
Feeling like I’m doused with a bucket of ice, I rip my mouth away from his and push against his chest. I quickly pull myself out of the space between his body and the wall and hurry toward the kitchen.
Breathless and shocked, I struggle to cope with the fact that I got carried away. Yanking the fridge open, I grab water and take a few desperate sips before placing the bottle on the island.
“Nova?”
Act like your life depends on it.
“I can see why you won an Oscar,” I say, injecting lightheartedness into my voice. “You’re a good actor.”
Shit.
I place my hand on my stomach as it bottoms out.
What did I do? How do I fix it?
My mind races while my emotions spiral out of control.
“Hey.” Easton places his hand on my shoulder, but I quickly step away from him and put a safe distance between us.
Forcing myself to chuckle, I hope it sounds natural. I walk to the stairs, saying, “Thanks for showing me. Sleep tight.”
Thanks for showing me? Really?
I rush up to the second floor and dart into my bedroom, but as I begin to shut the door, Easton pushes his way inside before closing it softly behind us.
With the lights on, there’s no mistaking the worried look on his face as he says, “We aren’t sleeping until we’ve talked about what just happened.”
“Nothing happened,” I lie, doing my best to keep my voice steady but failing miserably. “You showed me how you k ... what you do in movies. It was good ... I mean, you were great.”
With my heart thundering in my chest and embarrassment heating my face, I move backward.
There are harsh lines cut into his face, and it’s clear he’s upset, which only makes everything so much worse.
