“That seems excessive,” she said. “I’m sure ‘bye, bitch’ spray-painted on my trailer door would get the same point across for a fraction of the hassle.”
“You deserve a better send-off than that.”
“What did you have in mind?” The look on her face was a challenge and an invitation all at once.
It was fucking dangerous, was what it was.
He took a step closer, then another.
“I don’t know. Skywriting, maybe.”
She didn’t back away, didn’t object. She just uncrossed her arms, her gaze flicking to his lips—only for a split second, but long enough to start his pulse pounding in his ears.
He paused, a breath away from brushing against her.
“Or fireworks,” he murmured. She lifted her chin and met his eyes, the provocation in them bright and burning.
He’d have to initiate, of course. She never would. She’d seeit as a sign of weakness, admitting defeat before they even began. Even that first night, in the corner of that dark hotel bar in New York—back when things between them were as close to simple as they’d ever been—she would’ve rubbed herself all over him and then gone upstairs alone if he hadn’t made the first move. He’d been oblivious enough to believe that pulling her into his lap was his idea. But really, the choice had always been to either play by her rules or not play at all.
So he reached out, unsure at first where he was going, almost surprised when his hand came up to cup her jaw—the first time he’d touched her in nearly four years. He held it there for a moment, their gazes locked. It wasn’t too late to turn back. Nothing had happened yet, not really.
But then she closed her eyes and turned her face into his touch with a soft exhale, and that was it. His blood turned molten as his fingers spread and shifted, tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck, his other arm banding around her lower back to pull her flush against him. He was already hard before he even kissed her.
Considering how slow the buildup was, the first kiss was ferocious, both of them diving in so quickly that Shane was shocked nobody got hurt. But no, they’d always been good at this, their faces fitting together like they’d been made that way, the taste of her mouth too familiar as he plunged his tongue inside it.
He slid his hand possessively to the base of her throat and walked her back against the door, their kisses becoming more desperate, him sucking on her tongue, her biting his lower lip and sighing into his mouth as she clawed at the back of his T-shirt.
Shane broke away, both of them breathing heavily. “Doyou…do you want to do this?” Five minutes ago, he’d had no idea this was even within the realm of possibility. Now he felt like he would die if she said no.
Her eyes narrowed. “Doyou?”
Only Lilah could turn consent into a standoff. But instead of annoying him, it just drove his desire higher, and he gripped her jaw to dive back in for another hungry, ravaging kiss, nudging her legs apart with one thigh and rocking against her, making her gasp.
This wasn’t the way he really wanted this to happen, he realized with a pang. If he had a choice—if he’d known he’d get one more chance at a last time with her—he’d do it differently. On a bed, for starters. He’d lay her down and take his time. Show her he wasn’t some overexcited twentysomething kid anymore. But if this was his only option, going at it fevered and fumbling, he’d take it in a heartbeat.
He ducked his head down to suck at the sensitive spot just behind her jaw—too hard, probably, but he couldn’t bring himself to care with the way it made her breath go ragged, her head lolling helplessly on her neck.
“Careful,” she gasped. He barely heard her, too preoccupied by the feel of her hands groping at his belt.
His own hands traveled down, sweeping over the indent of her waist, the flare of her hips, and he kissed her again, groaning as he grabbed two generous handfuls of her ass through the thin, stretchy material of her skirt.
Fuck. He needed to be inside her, right fucking now.
He was so disoriented that he hadn’t realized he’d said it out loud until she laughed against his lips.
“Wow. All these years, and you still think foreplay is optional. I thought Serena would’ve trained you better than that.”
He knew she was just talking shit, trying to rile him up bytaking jabs at his sexual prowess and his recent breakup all at once—and it was working.
He released her, dropping to his knees and pushing her skirt up her thighs. She braced her shoulders against the wall and watched him, her pupils blown-out and her expression hazy, as he ran his index finger along the elastic seam of her underwear, slipping it underneath and finding her soaking.
“Foreplay, huh?” Even as he teased her, he knew the rasp in his voice gave away how affected he was, how his cock was hard as iron, chafing uncomfortably against his fly.
She gave an exasperated huff that almost sounded convincing. “It’s about theprinciple.”
But he wasn’t listening. He nuzzled his face between her thighs, giving one long, slow lick over the fabric. She bit back a moan, but her legs were already shaking before he pushed the material aside.
It was gratifying that he barely needed to think about it, that he could just let his instincts take over. He still knew exactly how she liked it, even after all this time, all the ways to make her gasp and tremble and cry out, and she slung one of her legs over his shoulder and gripped his hair with both hands for support.
