Page 43 of Until You

“I’m not sorry.” He takes a step toward me, my hands still on the screen door handle, my head angling up to hold his eyes.

“Not sorry about what?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “About hugging you earlier.”

“Oh.”

His eyes roam slowly down my body. Each second feels like an eternity as my chills chase his gaze almost as if he’s touching me. When they meet back to mine, the gray of his eyes is a little darker, the tic in his clenched jaw a tad more pronounced. “About wanting to kiss you.”

“Crew.” His name is breathless and sounds weak, but the thought is erased as Crew steps forward, sliding one hand to the back of my head and the other to the small of my back in one swift motion as he lowers his lips to mine.

Crew tastes like mint and desire. His lips are soft. His stubble just enough that its scrape against my skin tells me that this is real. That he is kissing me.

I could say I’m startled by the action, but that would be a lie.

I’m ready for it.

I want it.

Hell, I think I’ve wanted it since that first day I spied on him working in his yard.

And his kiss? It’s the perfect combination of demand and tenderness. Of us both wanting and taking.

I get lost in the sensations while memorizing every single thing about it.

The cool night breeze.

His warm, smooth skin.

The soft groan in the back of his throat.

His hand fisting in my hair.

His thigh pressed between the V of my legs.

The hard wood of the doorjamb at my back.

His heart racing beneath my palm as I run it down to fist in the hem of his shirt.

Crew ends the kiss, his strangled breath of restraint melding with the crickets chirping around us.

We stay that way for a moment—our faces an inch apart, our hands on each other, and anticipation vibrating between us—before he steps back. And not only does he step back, but he jogs down my porch onto my driveway.

“Wait. Crew. What . . . what was that?”

He turns to look at me, that disarming grin owning the parts of me he just heated up.

“I don’t know, but it sure felt good and . . .”

“And . . .”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, that smile of his lopsided now. “And I figure I should give you fair warning . . . I’m pretty fucking sure that just once isn’t going to be enough for me.”

“You already knew that, or was this a decision made on the fly?” I ask as I cross my arms over my chest and lift a brow.

“On the fly.” He winks and takes a step backwards. “I’m quick on my feet.”

“Is that so?”