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But I smiled, shifting back, grinning when her eyes flew open in surprise.
Slowly, I grazed the tip of her nose with mine. Traced the peak of her mouth with my lower lip. Smiled against her skin as her breath caught in her chest.
And then—with all the tension of the last five months burning through my veins—I finally claimed her mouth.
There was no slow start.
No tentative tiptoe into the shallow end.
The moment my lips touched hers, Leighton unleashed herself.
Her hands slid under my hoodie, heat flooding every cell in my body. Mine found their way into her hair, the other pinning her jaw up so she couldn’t take over completely.
It was a power struggle. A battle of wills. I licked into her mouth, and she chased my retreat, tasting me just as hungrily. This woman didn’t have the wordsubmitin her vocabulary. It was half kiss, half war. And I wanted every last second of it.
Gingerly, I worked my palm down over her breast, drinking in the sharp gasp she gave in return.
Meaningless sex, I knew. But touching Leighton could never—would never—be meaningless.
Slipping beneath her oversized hoodie, I found smooth, heaven-wrapped skin. I eased her onto her back, peeling our mouths apart only when her hands fisted my hoodie up over my head.
I let her work it off, eyes snapping to the strip of skin above her shorts.
Fuck, she’s mouthwatering.
But I wanted to take my time.
It was supposed to bejusta kiss.
Just a kiss.
Her hands scraped over my skin as our mouths collided in desperate, coiled up anticipation. This whole time. This whole time I could’ve said something—donesomething—and we’d both held back. Her hand found my throbbing cock through my jeans, and I groaned, clamping her lower lip between my teeth.
Easing away, I shook my head. Even as my instincts screamed to take more, feel more,servemore.
“You gonna remedy that for me, Ollie?”
Fuck. I could show her pleasure so consuming she’d toss that damn toy in the trash.
“We shouldn’t,” I breathed.
She laughed and leaned up to kiss me again. I turned her head aside with my nose, trailing kisses along her jawline instead.
“You were drinking.”
“Hours ago.”
“Still. I should go.”
“I’d blow into a breathalyzer for you,” she teased, “but that’s not the kind of blowing I had in mind.”
“Jesus, Trouble.”
“That’s three.”
I snickered—but my mind was warring with my body.
“Why me?” I whispered.