If anyone understands the debate that’s taking over my brain right now, it’s Greer. Her eyes glow up at me with silent permission to make the choice I want most.
I inch my face closer, my nose brushing against hers as I close my eyes.
“Stop me before I do something stupid,” I whisper.
I feel her warm breath, minty from her toothpaste, as she takes focused breaths.
“I don’t want to,” she replies right before I crash my mouth to hers. I brace myself with a hand on each side of her head as she reaches too, threading her hands in my hair to hold on.
My tongue slips past her lips, deepening the kiss and eliciting a moan from Greer that could bring me to my knees.
I crawl over her, the sheet that started this whole event falling to the side as I rest one knee between hers. Her hips lift, brushing against me.
Hell, I knew she’d taste amazing. But this kiss—this kiss is seared to my memory now, and I know without a doubt that I will never be kissed the way she’s kissing me. I will never kiss the way I’m kissing her. We fit. From the strokes of our tongues to the roll of our hips.
Our connection is kismet, and I don’t give a fuck how cliché it sounds.
I tear my lips from hers and allow myself to gently kiss down her neck to her chest.
I should have known just one kiss wouldn’t be enough for me.
“One last chance, Greer. Stop me before I do something stupid.”
“No,” she says, not missing a beat.
I continue to kiss down her body, the tiny tank top sliding up as my hands slip under it to cup her breasts.
“Shit, Greer. Your skin is so fucking soft, and it”—I pause to pull one of her nipples into my mouth— “tastes sweet too.”
I move my attention to her other nipple and let it go with a pop.
“I knew it would.”
“Then why didn’t you try it sooner?” Her breathy question literally makes me growl.
“Because I knew once I had a taste, even just a small one, I wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“So don’t.”
I lift up to kiss her again, and as soon as her hand goes to my jeans, something inside me clicks.
Greer deserves more than a late-night fuck. Or, you know, wherever this is leading. I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t be who she wants.
As much as it pains me, I pull back and sit on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, sitting up on her knees. “Was that too much?”
“No, fuck.” I shake my head and rub my hands down my face. “It wasn’t.”
I stand quickly. She’s too close, and I don’t trust myself around her anymore.
“It’s… I shouldn’t have done that.”
I’m too much of a chickenshit to look her in the eye, so I lift my head to catch her expression in the mirror that sits on the spare room dresser.
But the look she’s giving me is void of any emotion.
“Okay,” she says and crawls out of bed. She grabs a sweater that was folded on the corner of the dresser, and she walks by me. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
