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“Girl,” he cooed. “I would love to hang up your dream catcher for you. Under one condition. I want you to do something first.”

Yeah, this did not sound good.

“What’s this condition?” I asked suspiciously.

His smirk turned into a full blown, blinding smile. I couldn’t help the small smile that graced my lips at the lovely sight.

“I will hang your dream catcher up for you, and all you have to do is give me one tiny, little kiss. You don’t even have to give me your tongue if you’re not ready for that.”

The smile immediately left my face.

Kiss him?

Oh boy.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Words escaped me, and I suddenly became fascinated with my hands that were in my lap twisting every which way.

Did I want to kiss Tyson?

No, no I did not. I wanted him to kiss me. I didn’t want to be the one to make the first move. I would likely overthink it and mess the whole thing up. I didn’t want my first kiss with Tyson to be some sloppy thing I screwed up, but I most certainly did want there to be a first kiss. And, if it was good, a whole lot more.

I also wanted Quinton to kiss me again too. If I hadn’t known that this was the kind of relationship they wanted, I would have felt completely horrible about myself and weighted down by guilt.

“Sweetheart, look at me.”

I turned my head to the side so he could see my face. I imagined my eyes were a little wide in my head and probably full of the fear and the near on panic that I was feeling.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, leaning forward. He wrapped a hand around the side of my neck and slid it back, into my hair. His hand moved up and he fisted it gently in the hair at the back of my head.

With his hold on my hair, he tilted my head to the side and his lips crashed into mine. Heat seared into me, like he’d branded me with his mouth.

His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, making me gasp at the sensation. His tongue slipped inside and he took control, control over the kiss, control over me. The hand in my hair tightened as he tilted my head giving himself better access to my mouth. His lips moved against mine as he caressed every inch of my mouth with his tongue. He wasn’t there for a visit, he acted like he owned the place, the paint had dried and now he was moving in and he planned on staying a good, long while.

I placed my hands on his warm, hard biceps and I kissed him back. Or, I tried to kiss him back. He wouldn’t let me.

I made a sound deep in the back of my throat, embarrassingly close to a moan as his tongue slid out of my mouth and he nipped at my bottom lip again.

My breath was coming in pants as I forced my eyes to open. I hadn’t even remembered closing them. When had I done that?

Tyson licked his lips and his burning eyes raked over my face, ending back on my lips. My heart was beating way too fast in my chest, rising and falling heavily with each breath I took. His looked to be doing the same.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized in a soft, sweet voice. “I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I traced my finger across my lower lip. It tingled and felt swollen to the touch.

Tyson’s hand slid out of my hair. The backs of his fingers trailed down the side of my neck, stopping just above my collar bone.

His thumb smoothed over my scars as he asked, “Did I scare you?”

I shook my head, silently telling him no, he didn’t scare me, he hadn’t scared me at all.

Someone knocked loudly on the bedroom door. Tyson and I jumped apart as if we’d been burned. I scrambled off of the love seat and threw myself onto the bed. I scooted over until I sat in the middle of the bed. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, trying to make myself look as small and innocent as possible.

I avoided looking Tyson’s way, cleared my throat, and called out, “Come in.”

/> I wondered if I looked as disheveled as I felt. My hair probably looked like a crazy mess, tossed all over the place from Ty’s hand bunching in it. The door swung open and I was all out of time to fix the crazy mess that was my hair. Discretely, I watched Ty out of the corner of my eye. He sat back in the love seat, sprawled out, arm resting along the back of the couch, legs spread wide, feet firmly on the floor. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. I wanted to throw one of the decorative pillows at his head. Preferably one of the ones with sequins stitched into it. Served him right.