Page 24 of Hating On Riot

The nerve . . . I sit up on my knees and point my finger at him. I’m so frustrated and charmed by the wink that my fingers shake.

“They’re nouns, Riot Benedict O’Sullivan.” Is mine a noun? I can’t think straight with the intense way he stares at my eyes and mouth.

“Oooh, calling me out using my middle name like I’m in trouble or something.” He waggles his eyebrows.

I cross my eyes.

He laughs.

What a butt!

I reach over and swat his shoulder. He grasps my hand and drops a kiss dead center on my palm. Butterflies collide in my belly. I tug my hand free. He gives me a lopsided smile before he flips the next card. I blow at a strand of hair falling into my eye. What a flirt!

“Joker.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “In order, list ten places you’d like me to kiss you someday.”

I don’t miss that he prefers to ask his question with someday, as though these kisses will certainly happen.

I count off these future places for his pecks on my fingers.

“There. Done.”

His eyes widen. His brows shoot to his hairline.

“You did not just count your ten cute fingers.”

I ignore that he called my fingers cute. He’s trying to throw me off with his compliments. “I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?”

He points a thick finger at me. “You played dirty, Arie Kim.”

I give him a dismissive wave.

“You didn’t say different places. You said ten places. Huge difference.” I go to my third card. “Ace of spades. Hmm, should I make it an eleven or a one?” I rest my index finger on the corner of my mouth and tally the four cards in my head.

Whoever has the most points gets to make a wish, and the loser must grant it.

“I’ll go for eleven. Eleven different places you would like for me to kiss you.”

His eyes light up.

“My mouth. Definitely my mouth. Dead center. Each corner.”

“Wait, that doesn’t count. I said different places.”

“Those are different places. You didn’t specify different body parts.”

Crap, he’s right. “Okay, you’re at three. Eight more.”

“I can do the math, babe.”

I roll my eyes. He smiles big. The butterflies in my stomach go crazy.

“My Cupid’s bow.”

“How do you know what a Cupid’s bow is?” I cross my arms. “You’re a guy.”

His eyes twinkle. The corners of his mouth lift. His gaze drops to my lips. When he finally speaks, his tone is low and throaty.

“I’ve stared at yours many times. Enough to want to understand what I’m staring at. I want to flick my tongue over that sweet spot. Want to rub the tip of my dick against it before you take me deep in your mouth.”