Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I gesture to the fridge, trying to focus on something simple and mundane, so I don’t spiral into Kip-fueled frustration. “Want something to drink? Water? Tea? LaCroix? Scotch? Moonshine?” I need a scotch, that’s for sure.
She doesn’t answer or take the bait of the moonshine joke. She points to my hand. “What happened?”
I won’t give in. I can’t give in. I refuse to give in. “Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, Nick,” she says, gentle but clear. She’s refusing to give in too.
I wish her strength weren’t so alluring. “It’s just a pen that broke,” I say as I poke around the fridge.
She sets a hand on my shoulder.
I tense, but it feels so good too.
“Hey. Are you okay?” she asks.
I get what she’s doing. This is the friend routine. But we’re not friends.
I shut the fridge door and turn to face the bold, brilliant blonde beauty I can’t get out of my head.
Screw friendship.
Obsession wins. “I don’t want you to date Kip,” I say. As soon as I do, I want to take it back, but I want to imprint my inappropriate demand on the sky too.
“You don’t?” Her blue eyes flicker with curiosity.
I clench my fists, hiding the stupid ink spot. “I don’t, and I have no right to say that. No right to feel it. And yet I fucking do.”
She inhales, watches me, then nods like she’s gearing up for something. Then, she unfolds a story. “My mother likes to set me up. She has this fantasy that I’ll meet some blue-blood Park Avenue guy from a good family, and then she can leave the company to me, and she won’t have to worry, because she trusts no one because of my father.”
There’s too much to unpack there, and I feel like a jerk. Like a jealous, selfish jackass. She’s got real stuff to worry about. I just carry a chip on my shoulder about where I’m from. I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry, Layla,” I say, heavily. “I shouldn’t care.”
She takes a step toward me. “But you do?”
I take a breath. Try to will away the dragon of jealousy inside me. But it’s billowing great plumes of smoke. The only thing to calm it is the truth. I advance toward her and confess, “I don’t want another man to date you. Or to touch you. Or to kiss you. I have no right to feel this way, and I’m doing a terrible job at being friends with you. Because I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to feel this way about a friend.”
Her lips part. Her tongue flicks across the corner of her mouth. “What way?”
I don’t think. I cup her cheeks and bring my lips dangerously close to hers. “Obsessed.”
She lifts her chin, like a dare. “Show me how much.”
21
CORAL LIPS
Nick
Her coral lips are a tantalizing invitation.
She doesn’t need to tell me twice to kiss her. Touching her is all I can think about. In an instant, I’m sweeping my lips to hers, tasting her sweet mouth once more.
I groan.
In relief, in desire, in need.
I’ve missed this so much. Wanted her so deeply.
I clasp her face, kiss her lips, craving even more of her. I’m intoxicated by the sight, the sound, the taste of Layla. The flavor of her lipstick is like peaches, and there’s never been a more perfect taste for a woman.
She’s a delicious sensory overload as the peach lipstick mingles with the heady scent from her neck, or her hair. Something fresh and floral, like jasmine. I don’t know if it’s her perfume or her shampoo, and I want to know, but I don’t want to stop this chaotic kiss for anything.
It’s wild and needy. The kind of kiss that you can’t control. It’s a kiss that controls you.
I hold her face tighter, kiss her more deeply, but it’s still not enough. For her either, since her eager hands travel up and down my arms, grabbing at me as she goes.
She’s trying to hold on tight too. Like we both know this is a flash of a kiss. It’s lightning, and it won’t last long.
But I want it to. God, how I want it to.
Her hands loop around my neck. She tugs on my hair. Pulls me closer.
My Layla is hungry, and I want to give her everything she needs. Curling my hands around her hips, I break the kiss then lift her up onto the counter.
In no time, she parts her legs.
“Yes, missed this so much,” I say, approvingly as I slide right into the V of her thighs, pressing against her center.
“Me too,” she gasps as I grind and rub, kiss and touch.
We’re fully dressed, but clothes feel like a formality. Like they’ll come off with a thought. This kiss feels like a prelude.
Shoving up her skirt to her waist, I yank her closer, jerk her against the ridge of my erection. She leans her head back, letting me lead the kiss entirely, urging me to claim her mouth, her neck, her whole body.