“Hux—” her voice was timid and edged with a bit of sadness, but I didn’t get the feeling she was sorryforme, but rather the situation. And then I felt her hand hesitantly rest against my chest, right over my heart. My breath hitched in my throat andI’d be surprised if she didn’t feel my heart skip a beat. I expected her to bring up the anger, but one thing I was learning with her, is she didn’t press me with questions. It’s like she knew which ones I wouldn’t want to talk about. “You’re so talented,” she said in a hushed whisper, “is there anything you can’t do?”
A soft chuckle escaped me. “Well, I mean, see.” I couldn’t help it. The words fell so easily from my lips, I wasn’t about to miss an opportunity like that.
Laughter bubbled out of her, the sound like a goddamn melody. Why did everything about her call to me? It made it impossible to think, to focus, to breathe, even.
“Oh my God,” she said, the last word muffled, like she’d cupped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, it’s not funny. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
I couldn’t fight the words as they clawed up my throat. “No, please laugh. I love the sound of it.” I raised a nervous hand and pushed my hair back off my face.
A quiet, light giggle escaped her. “You just got paint all in your hair.”
I shrugged. “Ah, shit. Did I get it anywhere else?”
The heat of her consumed me as she moved closer—not even an inch or a breath apart it seemed—and when she pressed a finger to wipe at my brow I didn’t even flinch—much.
“Here,” she said quietly, her words taking on a husky edge.
And damn me, but I couldn’t help myself from wrapping an arm around her and hauling her fully against me. A gasp escaped her, followed by the most feminine little sigh I’d ever heard. It sparked desire in my veins.
Trailing the backs of my knuckles up and down her spine, I asked, “Where else?”
Her fingers drifted down in a measured path from my eyebrow to my chin. “Here,” she murmured, her touchdisappearing a moment later only to be replaced with the softest whisper of a kiss.
A groan rumbled through my chest, and I brought my free hand up to cup the side of her neck. I trailed my thumb along the curve of her jaw. “Where else, Quinn?”
Her breath fanned against my cheeks, the heat of her mouth so close all I needed was to tilt my head down to kiss her. But I wouldn’t. No, this had to be on her.
Her hands slipped up around my neck, knotting in my hair as she tossed my ballcap aside, and then her mouth was on mine, brutal and unrelenting and filled with so much passion and need that I knew I was completely and totally ruined, but didn’t care one bit.
It was my damn undoing.
Chapter twenty-one
Break Up More Often
Quinn
Hux’s lips, his hands,his scent—let’s face it, everything about him—left me reeling. My legs felt weak and wobbly, but it’s like he was a mind reader or something, because just as I felt like they’d buckle or turn to jello, he lifted me in his arms as if I were little more than a feather, all the while his mouth never leaving mine. He sat me on the table, all of his paint supplies getting messed up and moved around in the process. My dress was probably ruined, but it was the least of my worries right now.
Not when his kisses left me feeling like I was drowning. But in the best way.
I pulled back just enough to look at him, my lungs screaming for air. Holy God, he was so painfully attractive, even covered in multicolored smudges. His unkempt brown hair was wild andfalling around his face, and his scruff was thicker, closer to an actual beard instead of just a shadow of one. He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, I realized, and when he opened his eyes, it was like the soulful amber depths were seeing straight to the very essence of my being.
I raised a tentative hand to his brow once more, trailing my fingers along the lines of his brutally handsome face. He was rugged and hard and fierce, and I loved that about him. I loved that despite that, his actions could be so opposite—soft, gentle but no less intense.
I pressed a kiss to his lips, surprising myself when I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
He stilled beneath my touch.
Damn. I didn’t want him to stop, but I needed to get my thoughts off my chest. It was like now that I’d opened my mouth I couldn’t help the words from coming out. I needed him to understand how I felt. So even though my heart pitter pattered in my chest, I continued on. “I know you said you couldn’t do this, but I want you.”
One of his hands slid up to grip my chin while the other trailed down my curves before coming to a rest on my hips. “I know, I can’t get you out of my fuckin’ mind, darlin’,” he all but growled, the sound sending a ripple of desire through me.
I released my hold on his hair, sliding my hands down to rest on his chest, the black t-shirt he wore a thin barrier between me and his tattooed skin. I wanted it off, but I also—I don’t know—I wasn’t ready for the passion to overwhelm me yet. Once it did, there was no going back. It was probably stupid, but I’d been falling for him basically since the moment I met him, and after tonight, nothing would be the same.
I knew that without a shadow of a doubt.
So, I don’t know, this moment, this pause, it was like those few gut-wrenching minutes when the rollercoaster makes itsway up to the top of the drop off. That part was honestly more terrifying than the ride itself. It was the lead up. The tension. The stillness of the moment where you could hear your heart thumping in your ears and you were contemplating whether or not you’d made a massive mistake.
