Page 77 of The Right Kind of Wrong

“Blake,” Monroe whispered. Was it an invitation, or was it a warning? Her voice was low as she allowed Blake to just . . . look.

She stayed still as Blake’s eyes scanned across what she could see, which wasn’t nearly enough. The swell of her breasts. The lines of her clavicle, disappearing underneath her flannel shirt. Her long neck, exposed and taut, and Blake almost thought she could see Monroe’s pulse point beating erratically through her skin.

And Blake liked that she was the one to cause it. The flush high on Monroe’s cheeks. The soft parting of her lips, while she just . . . waited.

Did she know what Blake wanted?

Did Blake?

She thought about Monroe’s hands on her, ghosting along her skin, and her whole body vibrated.

Monroe must have had the patience of a saint because Blake was about to turn inside out as the electricity between them crackled in the cab.

Finally, when Blake wondered if she’d split in two, Monroe shifted closer. “What do you want, Blake?” she asked, exhaling softly, the two of them close enough that Blake could feel Monroe’s breath on her lips.

“This.”

Blake closed the space between them, and Monroe met her in the middle. When they came together, their lips slotting as Blake tipped her head to the side to get a better angle, she felt it deep in her bones.

The wanting. A type of wanting she’d never been able to name, all through her life.

But she felt it now. In a way that had her feeling like she was floating and she needed something to keep her tethered.

She cupped her hand against Monroe’s neck, pulling her closer. Deepening the kiss, already hungry for more.

How had she gone her whole life without kissing a woman?

No, scratch that.

How had she gone her whole life without kissing Monroe, specifically?

She was an incredible kisser, it turned out, as she explored Blake’s mouth with her tongue, peppering in gentle nips against her lips that sent a shot straight to Blake’s clit every time it happened.

If only they didn’t have the coffee and pastries between them, Blake was pretty sure that she’d have already tried to crawl into Monroe’s lap to get more friction. To find a way to alleviate the building sensation that was threatening to engulf her if she didn’t get some relief.

The rain continued to pound down on the truck, but Blake was pretty sure that Monroe could hear her little whimpers whenever she did something that Blake liked.

Which, to be fair, was everything.

It was Monroe who slowed the kiss, and she finally pulled back, looking at Blake with lidded eyes. Like what had just happened had as much of an impact on her, too.

Good.

Monroe swallowed a steadying breath and then let out a deep exhale. Blake watched as she blinked slowly, like she was coming back into herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done that,” she said.

The weight of what Blake had just done was starting to settle around her, pressing her down. She didn’t want to voice her uncertainty, so instead, she went with,“What, made out in a car like a horny teenager?”

Really smooth, Blake.

Monroe shot her a look. “I didn’t even know that you were queer. Way to bury the lede.” She touched her lips, then, like she couldn’t really believe what had just happened.

“Maybe I didn’t exactly know myself,” Blake admitted, unable to lie in the face of Monroe’s openness. “But I definitely know now.”

God, had that kiss just made everything both maddeningly clearer and infinitely more complicated.

But there wasn’t a world in which she wanted to take it back.

Monroe’s eyebrows rose, her lips flirting with a playful smirk. “Is that so?”