Page 64 of Him Too

The moment was too intimate for me to be witnessing without wanting to pummel him. Then she kissed him. It was the kind of kiss you give someone when they don’t need words—they need love and affection.

Ciarán whispered something against her lips, too low for me to catch.

Jordin glanced over at me.

And then she was walking toward me.

My pulse jumped, confusion mixing with the heat already simmering low in my gut.

Her fingers brushed over my jaw before she grabbed my face, tilting my head up to hers.

And then she kissed me.

It was deep, slow—the full-body kind of kiss that made the room spin a little.

She tasted like whiskey and whatever lip gloss she had slicked over her mouth, like something sweet but dangerous.

Her fingers slid into my hair, nails scratching lightly at my scalp, making me groan against her lips.

I didn’t know what the fuck was happening.

But I wasn’t about to stop it.

Because for the first time in months, I didn’t feel like an afterthought.

I felt wanted.

Not pitied. Not tolerated. Not like a shadow of who I used to be.

She kissed me like she remembered every good thing about us.

My grip tightened, pulling her down onto my lap, my mouth moving against hers—harder, deeper. I could feel the heat from her through her thin dress.

She let out a quiet moan, and fuck if I didn’t feel it move straight through me.

I wanted more.

Needed more.

I didn’t even care that Ciarán was watching.

Jordin pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her forehead pressed against mine, her lips slightly parted.

Her hands slid down my chest, her fingers curling into my shirt. I was wearing the same thing as Ciarán.

I could feel her pulse racing against my own.

I reached for her, pulling her back.

“Hold on,” she breathed out to me while looking back at him, like she was asking for permission.

“Don’t stop on my account. Tell him what you need,” he said, taking another slow sip of his non-alcoholic drink.

He was the only one sober enough to make a good decision, but he was encouraging a bad one.

I cut my eyes toward him.

He was smirking.