In part, to see if my memory is playing tricks on me. He can’t be as good a kisser as I remember him being. Can he?
My body leans toward him. I need to know, the craving building inside every piece of me is urgent, spreading like some kind of brain-cell-eating disease. I’m not thinking rationally. I don’t want to think rationally. I don’t want to think about all the reasons why I can’t, why I shouldn’t...
I want him to kiss me. I want to lean in to him, my body making the decision for me.
I pause with our noses touching. He glances down, then back up to my eyes. I fucking love his eyes.
“Kiss me,” It’s somewhere between a whisper and a demand, he hears it, and when he does, he sweeps his lips against mine with a hum.
“Like this, Pitstop?”
I shake my head, our noses brushing against each other. “No.”
Karlya’s probably ordered popcorn at this point. I feel her eyes on me, taking everything in. And I’m sure Chloe and Dickare getting rink-side seats to this little presentation. That’s all it is, all it can be.
Tate pecks the tip of my nose, then each of my eyebrows, making a grumbling sound come out of my mouth. He tips his head and grins. “Not like that either?”
Another shake of my head as I lick my lips.
He puts his lips next to my ear. “I could kiss other places, but we’d get kicked out of here, and we wouldn’t be allowed back.” He pauses, licking his lips. “Might be worth it.”
If he doesn’t hurry up and kiss me, I might very well remove his tongue and put it in a jar on my fucking shelf. Right next to jars with his cock and balls, too.
I grab him by the scruff of his dark shirt, catching his jacket in my balled up fist.
“I love it when you get feisty, Pitstop.”
“That’s my MO.”
He grins. “I’m well aware.” He slides a hand around the back of my neck and pulls me toward him, catching my mouth with his. His lips are every bit as soft as I remember them being, and I mentally kick myself. Fuck. I wanted them to be like sandpaper, rough, ragged, and not at all enjoyable to kiss.
This isn’t good. Except it’s very, very good.
When he licks the seam of my lips with his tongue, I’m half-tempted to keep them closed and deny him entry.
I don’t know what I was thinking.
Did I really believe he’d be a terrible kisser after a year more practice? Or was I secretly hoping for a reminder of just how skilled he is so I can revisit that particular spank bank material later tonight when I’m alone in my bed?
Either way, the urge to stomp on the brakes is strong. But his other hand loops around my neck, his palms now cradling my face as he continues to tease at my mouth with his.
Karlya makes a whooshing sound, like watching us kiss has made all the air rush out of her body. “Just kiss the man, Pen.”
She has no such reticence about me kissing him.
He smiles against my mouth. “Listen to your friend, Pitstop.”
“Cousin.” I correct.
“Listen to your cousin, Pitstop. Let me kiss you.”
So I do.
It’s slow at first, like it’s been years since we’ve experienced each other’s mouths, and we need a moment to adjust. But the hesitation doesn’t last long. He tips my head back like he did that fateful Halloween night and owns my mouth.
He growls when I let him kiss me, all teeth and tongues clashing together right there in the bar. It’s gotten busier, but the ambient noise of the bar isn’t drowning out the blood surging through my body and my pulse hammering in my veins.
This guy can still kiss.
