Page 134 of Almost Ours

“Huh.” She smiles big and wide. “You think that would freak me out but it’s kind of turned me on.”

I bark out a laugh, shaking my head while my thumb keeps moving over her cheek. “Course it has.”

She shrugs under me. “I’m a little obsessed with you too.”

Hearing that sets me on fire. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods, eyelashes fluttering. “You have no idea.”

I lean in, letting my lips brush hers. “Do I not?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Rubes?” I breathe.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Please,” she whimpers.

I kiss her slowly, taking the plea apart with my mouth while one hand stays cupped around her jaw and the other slides firmly around her waist, holding her against me as she rises onto her toes and meets me with the same hunger that has been burning through me since I walked through the door.

She kisses like she talks, which should not make any fucking sense and yet it does, completely and utterly. There’s no hesitation in her once she decides she wants something, no half measure, and every time I think I’ve got the upper hand she catches my bottom lip lightly between hers or drags her nails through the hair at the back of my head and reminds me I am not remotely in control of this.

Fuck.

I am so fucked.

So desperately head over heels for this girl and knowing it can all be torn away from me.

I pull away just far enough to breathe against her mouth, smiling when she immediately follows me. “Obsessed, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, smashing her lips to mine with full force and taking my breath away, moaning into me when I meet her need for need. I swear I could stand here listening to that sound for the rest of the morning.

I would do exactly that if my phone didn’t start vibrating in my pocket at the exact moment, she deepens the kiss, making her freeze and pull back. “Is that Ewan?”

“Probably.”

“You should answer.”

I chase her lips. “I really, really shouldn’t.”

“He’s going to leave without you.”

“I don’t really give a fuck right now. You can drive me back and I’ll get my car off him later.”

“He’s driving your car?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a BMW 1 Series and Ewan has a fucking Corsa, and Brooke has packed more shit than can physically fit inside Ewies’ tiny little clown car.”

“Oh no,” her eyes widen. “You’re a car snob.”

“I’m not. I just don’t like Ewan’s shoebox with indicators.”