She's still staring. And I'm still falling. Free-falling without a parachute, and I've never been more terrified or exhilarated in my life.
A long pause stretches between us, humming with electricity and every word I just said.
She looks like she's running calculations behind those eyes. Weighing every possibility.
Actually, she looks like she might slap me. Honestly, I’m about 60% sure she’s going to slap me.
I tense and brace for it, jaw tight, eyes half closed, full-body flinch mode activated.
But instead, she grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanks me in and kisses me.
Hard. Fierce. Like she's been waiting for it since the day she hated me on sight.
There's nothing careful about it. No hesitation. Just thefull-force of Delilah Greer crashing into me. It's fire and frustration and her mouth claiming mine.
I groan into her, hands sliding to her waist, fingers digging into the soft curves there. She tastes like lime and sweetness.
She's all heat and soft skin and infuriating energy, and the second her body presses into mine, everything else disappears. The project. The roommates. My name. My past. Gone.
When we finally break apart, she's flushed and breathless, lips swollen like a dare I want to accept over and over again.
“Still think I'm playing a game?” I manage, my voice low and wrecked.
She glares at me, but there's something new in her eyes. Something that makes my heart stumble. “Yes. But right now, I don't care.”
And then she kisses me again and it's deeper, hotter. Like she's not finished. Like we've barely started.
20
DELILAH
Idon’t know what I expected.
Not this. The way his mouth felt like relief, or how I lost all sense of reason the second I got my hands on his stupid shirt.
I kissed him.
I kissed him.
And now we’re in his room.
The door’s still closed. My back hits it softly as he moves toward me again. His hands slide into my hair. Mine fists in the fabric at his waist. I’m kissing him again before either of us speaks.
It’s stupid.
Reckless.
So good I forget to be careful because this isn’t supposed to happen. Not withhim. Not withTroy Hawkins, who’s perfect and loud and always in control.
And definitely not when I swore I wouldn’t be one of those girls who fell for the way he smiles.
But right now, I can’t remember why I was fighting it sohard. When he lifts my shirt off, I let him with a soft, involuntary sound—becauseholy shit,this is happening.
Even as my stomach tightens and my heart screamsdanger. He doesn't say anything. He just steps back long enough to look at me. His eyes trail over my chest, and it should make me want to cover myself but I refuse to hide. The way he’s looking at me isn’t greedy or cocky.
It’s with…awe.
He steps forward to kiss me again, his tongue gliding across mine deliciously, his hands sliding down to my hips as he backs me toward the bed. When the backs of my knees hit the mattress, he pulls back just enough to ask, “Still good?”
