Page 66 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

But she doesn’t speak. Instead, she drops her gaze and hurries past me into the bedroom. “Goodnight, then.”

Xolo whines by my feet when she starts to close the door, and spurred by the sound (or by my own stupidity), I shoot out my hand to stop her. My palm slaps against the wood, and Blondie gapes at me through the crack between the door and the frame.

This is a bad idea, my conscience warns, but I have to know.

“Did you mean it?” I find myself asking against my better judgment, my brain not quite keeping up with the words spilling out of my mouth. “Or was it the alcohol speaking?”

Blondie’s brow creases for only a second before comprehension bleeds across her features.

My conscience was right. This is a bad idea. A terrible idea. I shouldn’t even be considering this—the ache in my chest is proof enough of that. I should walk the hell away.

Because if I’m already this close to falling for Blondie, what the fuck do I think sleeping with her will accomplish?

She might not hate me anymore (I think), but that doesn’t mean she likes me either.

Shit, she made it pretty damn clear there were no romantic feelings to be found on her part. Not now. Not ever.

As for me, as for what I’m feeling… I’ve been acting for a while now, with her, with everyone, but I’m not sure I can convincingly play the role of the unattached fuckboy any longer.

Especially not if I sleep with her again.

Because sex with Blondie won’t just tear the mask off.

It will burn it, and everything I pretend to be, to ash.

And yet, instead of walking away like I already should have, I hold Blondie’s gaze, my every breath ragged with anticipation.

It might not be smart, it might blow up this whole agreement, but despite what I said to her on Halloween, I know now that if it’s a choice between having her the way she wants and not having her in any way at all, I’ll always choose the former.

Even if it means my heart will get smooshed into mushy pulp in the process.

The column of her throat shifts when she swallows, the movement agonizingly slow as the seconds crawl by at a snail’s pace. She’s doing this deliberately to torment me, I know it, and yet, I would take every moment of this torture for the slightest chance she’ll say?—

“I meant it.” The words slip from her like a confession whispered in the sacred hush of a church.

My own lips and mouth have gone completely bone dry. “And now?” A dangerous question—one that will undoubtedly change everything with its answer.

Blondie’s startled expression softens a little. “I guess that depends.”

My heart hammers against my ribs as if these feelings are trying to truly break me. “On?” I press.

Her eyes don’t leave mine as she pushes the door open again. “On whether your abuela will hear us.”

I take in the space between the door and the frame and then peer past her into the empty bedroom, aware that once I step inside, there will be no turning back. Not for me.

Don’t do it, a voice calls out from that grim, desolate place within me.

From that dark place that’s made me push away every chance at connection and sabotaged any hope I had of healing over these last four years.

That’s been so afraid of loss and betrayal I haven’t allowed myself to feel anything but that self-inflicted detachment.

The place that kept me isolated in my grief.

But I don’t want to be alone. Not anymore. And I’m tired of living my life in the darkness.

I take a step into the room. Into Blondie’s personal space—into her warm, golden light—relishing the way her eyes roam over my face and the graze of her hands as they reach out to touch my waist. My own rise to curl around the back of her neck, and?—

A bark from the hallway has me jerking away from her, and we both glance down at Xolo, who wags his tag and stares up at us with pleading eyes, imploring us to allow him in, too.

I stifle a laugh and break away from Blondie, putting a hand on the door. “Sorry, boy, but I’m about to do some stuff you probably won’t want to see.”

I’ve barely clicked the door shut before Blondie is in my arms and I’m pushing her up against the nearest wall, one hand pinning her left wrist above her head and the other thumbing along the soft skin of her jawline.

The warmth of her body is intoxicating, her heat, her desire for this , radiating through the thin layers of fabric between us.

I can feel the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my fingertips, and her breath is shallow as I pull her closer, chasing her lips.

She moans into my mouth as I force them apart with a gentle tug of my thumb on her chin, and I sweep my tongue inside when she opens up for me, capturing the sound.

If our kiss in the library on Wednesday was a hungry inferno, the kiss we share now is a life-ending tsunami. It washes over us, filling our lungs until we’re drowning in it. Until I’m completely drowning in her .

Blondie’s knees turn to jelly when I move my lips lower, fixing my full attention on her throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of exposed flesh I can reach.

As I kiss her jaw, her neck, her collarbone, her hands knot in my hair, tugging me closer as her body arches, seeking more.

Demanding more. Another breathy moan punches out of her, and I can’t help smirking against her skin.

It’s the kind of sound I want to hear again, and again, and again.

I resume my eager exploration of her mouth next, high off the little keening sounds she keeps making, and with each smooth slide of her tongue over mine, my brain registers that she tastes like all my favorite things rolled into one, especially…

Blondie reels back and glares at me when I let out an inconveniently-timed laugh. “ What ?”

I trail my thumb across her bottom lip and bring it to my tongue, sucking off the lingering flavor. “You taste like my abuela’s tamales,” I croon, flashing her a salacious grin.

Pure mortification crosses her face. “Oh, god.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth and attempts to retreat, but I grab her before she can get very far.

“No, stop.” When she doesn’t, when she keeps her head averted, fighting my grasp as if worried she’ll somehow kill me with her breath, I sigh.

“You’re being ridiculous, Dornan.” To prove my point, I yank her forward, and trap her in the cage of my arms so we’re standing so close I only have to bow my head and I could kiss her again if I wanted.

I resist the temptation to do so, instead dragging my lips along the shell of her ear.

“I like it. It makes me want to find out what you taste like elsewhere.”

A shiver rolls through her at my words, and it’s all the convincing she seems to need because her mouth is instantly on mine again.

As we kiss, I move my hands to her ass and then curl them down her thighs, hoisting her up so her legs can wrap around my waist. She brushes against me, and my cock goes rock hard, aching under the stiff bite of my zipper.

I could fuck her like this—shove down my jeans, push up the lovely green dress she’s wearing that perfectly matches those stunning eyes, and pound into her until I’ve found my release.

But I want to take my time with her. I want to make this moment last since I have no idea how many more I’ll get.

Intent on doing just that, I walk her over to the bed, and lean forward, guiding her back down onto the blanket. I break our kiss, watching her face, watching the way her eyelids flutter with pleasure, as my fingertips skim along her bare thighs.

Flattening my palms, I push her legs open, and yank her hips closer to the edge of the mattress, then sink to my knees before her, like she is an altar to pray at.

I might not be a religious man, but when it comes to this—when it comes to ensuring this is the single best sex of her life—I am completely devout.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this almost non-stop since you kissed me on Wednesday,” I admit as I plant teasing kisses along the inside of her leg.

“I didn’t,” Blondie starts to say, then gasps, biting the back of her hand.

I lift my head and shoot her a dubious look. “Didn’t what? Kiss me? Now, now, Blondie,” I coo, “no need to be embarrassed. Besides…” Another kiss—this one closer to the apex of her thigh, making her tremble beneath my lips. “I like a woman who can take charge.”

I push her dress up until her hips are exposed, and start salivating at the sight of her lacy white panties and the obvious damp spot forming at the center of the thin fabric.

I let my fingers trail just over the edge of the lace, teasing her for a fleeting moment, relishing the whine that escapes her.

Then, leaning forward, I close my mouth around her—underwear and all.

She bucks beneath my lips, letting out a hoarse, “Fuck!” that has me smiling against her heat.

Deciding I’ve teased her enough, I pull back, then deftly slide her panties down her long legs before chucking them onto the floor somewhere behind me.

“I am going to devour you,” I purr, bowing my head again to make good on that promise.

Blondie’s back arches at the first hot sweep of my tongue, and I moan as I close my mouth around her again, sucking and licking until she’s a trembling mess.

Her hands comb through my hair, gripping the strands with ferocious demand, and pulling me to her as she bucks, writhing against my face.

I lave at her clit, alternating between broad strokes and taunting circles, absolutely consumed by the knowledge that I am the one doing this to her. I am making her lose herself.