Page 18

Just like Friday night, every minute move he makes is amplified. The way his breath catches when he spots my happy tears, the bob of his Adam’s apple when his hooded gaze lowers to my chest, and the stiffness of my nipples when it dawns on them that they’ve secured his attention.
Every move is excruciatingly apparent, and the press of my thighs when he confesses, “You didn’t stutter,” worsens it. He isn’t seeking confirmation, more vocalizing his disbelief. “Not while speaking with Tillie or me.”
“Because…” I stop, genuinely lost for a reply.
I can’t recall the last time I’ve spoken a sentence with the opposite sex and not stuttered.
It’s been years, decades, even.
Untapped sexual chemistry prickles the back of my neck when pride stretches across Ark’s face. He tilts his head to the side and stares at me, a smile playing at one side of his kissable lips.
I squirm as we stand across from each other, staring but not speaking. I’ve never felt so many sparks. I thought it was something made up by romance novelists to explain extreme carnal desire. I was wrong. The attraction I feel for this man is visible in the air, and shockingly, the hisses and cracks aren’t solely coming from my half of the kitchen.
They’re just as searing from Ark’s half.
My heart drums my ribs when I decide to encourage an exchange I was once scared of instead of shying away.
I step closer to Ark, trembling all over.
“Mara...”
Just the gravelly deliverance of my name sets my skin on fire, and I can’t help but moan through the aftermath of its brilliance.
A low hum rumbles from Ark’s chest as he tilts toward me like he isn’t seeking excuses for us not to act on the tension hotter than the inferno that almost engulfed my kitchen. “This isn’t why I stayed. I needed to make sure?—”
Unlike Friday night, I lunge headfirst into the lust haze instead of repelling from it.
I kiss him.
I want to pretend I instigated our kiss because I am brave, but we both know that isn’t true. I simply can’t fight the tension for a second longer.
God himself wouldn’t be strong enough to win this battle.
Barely half a second passes before the threat of rejection ceases to exist.
“Fuck it,” Ark breathes against my lips before he snakes his hand up my back and sinks it into my knotted locks.
Our teeth clash when he slides his tongue deep inside my mouth. He duels it with mine, sampling and tasting me before he drags it along the roof of my mouth.
I’ve never been kissed in such a manner. I honestly don’t know what to do.
With Ark’s guidance, I match the strokes of his tongue and the movements of his lips until he’s panting and as breathless as me.
A kiss so violent shouldn’t feel so good. It is consuming and blistering, an embrace so all-encompassing that I don’t realize we’re moving until my back is splayed against the refrigerator and Ark’s body presses flush against mine.
He squashes into me so profoundly that the only part of my body capable of moving is my lips.
The inability to move doesn’t weaken the intensity of our kiss. We taste and tease each other for what feels like hours but is barely minutes.
My lips feel bruised when Ark pulls away to drag his nose down the throb in my throat. He draws in a long breath, and then an approving sound rumbles from his chest.
“You smell so good.”
He licks my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, while the hand not weaved through my hair slides down my back, both pulling me closer and de-suctioning me from the refrigerator.
A desperate gasp leaves me when he kneads my ass before he tilts my hips upward.
He’s hard, as lost to the tension as I am.