Page 30 of Worth the Wait

His head is angled to the side as he watches me yank my tank top over my head, but I can’t see his eyes.

Oh, how I want to see his eyes.

His sigh fills the room. “I’ll walk you home⁠—”

“No. It’s fine. I’ll be okay.” That means a kiss goodbye, and I can’t swoon right now when my insides have turned to mush and are already in a puddle at his feet.

It takes a second for me to find my flip flops and without looking his way, I mutter “Good night” like the chicken I am before walking out the door.

The screen door slams behind me as the rain hits me with each step through his backyard and into mine.

I thought I’d be able to breathe once I was outside of his house—when I was away from the scent of us together—and now it feels harder to draw in a breath.

It’s because the sex was good.

At least that’s what I’ll tell myself.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Right up until I jog up onto my own porch, hair and clothes now plastered to my body, and yelp when Reznor’s hand flashes out to my bicep and spins me around.

Without a word, his lips find mine again. He’s instantaneously heat and desire as his tongue touches ever so briefly against mine and my arms fall lax to my side, afraid to betray my mind and grab on to him for one more round right here on the wet patio.

When we break from the kiss and he steps back, his eyes meet mine. He shakes his head ever so slightly. “There. Now you can go. Good night, Desi.”

And it’s only when he turns around to walk away that I realize he’s still buck naked.

And I’m royally screwed.