- December 2014 (39)
- November 2014 (131)
- October 2014 (102)
- September 2014 (54)
- August 2014 (22)
- July 2014 (13)
- June 2014 (8)
- May 2014 (11)
- April 2014 (16)
- March 2014 (8)
The more the merrier
If you ask the confident and snarky skater girl, and she’s in the mood to share, she’ll tell you her name is Cat. She might even tell you that she’s hooked on graffiti, 80s movies, and having fun—the riskier the better. Cat will share a good time with you, but she won’t ever trust you enough to share her heart. It’s protected by secrets and she’d like to keep it that way.
Cat knows one thing for certain: Love isn’t really her thing.
If you ask the confident and rich pretty boy, he might tell you his name is Huck. He might even tell you he loves a challenge and is used to getting his way. He won’t tell you that his life is a mess because he risked his heart by trusting the wrong girl. Huck is ready for a change, he just wasn’t ready to get hooked on someone like Cat.
Huck knows one thing for certain: Love hasn’t done him any favors, but Cat just might be worth the risk.
Cat and Huck think a one-night stand seems harmless, but when all the little secrets they didn’t share turn out to be toxic truths, they realize how easily a one-night stand (or a few) could ruin everything.
The thing is, you can be ruined in more than one way. Once you’re HOOKED, what wouldn’t you risk for the chance at more?
“I’m going to kiss you,” he warned.
“It’s about time.” I barely managed to finish speaking before his lips were on mine, silencing me. It wasn’t common for people to be able to shut me up so easily. I had to give Huck credit. Kissing was a very effective method.
One of his hands was on my hip, pulling me against him while the other was on the back of my neck, fingers clutching in the loose weave of my braid. I ran my hands up his chest and he murmured my name in response before I hooked my fingers behind his neck and pulled him in closer. His mouth opened to mine and our tongues met with heavy breaths and begging lips. Huck leaned into me, walking me up against the wall behind my door, pressing his hips into mine. My lips broke away from his as I let out a moan at the contact. He did it again and I closed my eyes as I felt the tingling effects of pleasure unfurling through my body. His head dipped to the curve of my neck as he nipped a few hungry kisses along the skin there and at that moment, I thought I might stop breathing. How could the simple touch of his lips have such an effect on me?
I was vaguely aware that I’d been sweating in the hot sun all morning, had just eaten a huge hamburger, and probably tasted like avocados and salt. But I didn’t care. His lips were on my skin and I wanted to let him taste any part of my body he wanted. I pushed my fingers up into his thick hair, dragging my nails lightly across his scalp. He growled, bringing his mouth back to mine.
“Do that again,” he ordered, his lips moving against mine before his tongue was tracing the edges of my satisfied smile.
I did as he asked, allowing my fingernails to stray lightly through his hair, down his neck, and along his back until they found the hem of his shirt. Huck’s hands were framing my ribs, his thumbs circling lightly against the fabric of my tank top, inching it up as he kissed me. I bunched the bottom of his t-shirt in my hands, using it to push us away from the wall. He pulled away from the kiss, eyes stormy with desire and amusement as he allowed me to slowly force him backwards. When his knees hit the seat of my chair, I pushed him down into it. It was a garish, odd thing that I’d found at an antique store last year and asked Jay to re-upholster for me. It had always been more for looks than use, but as I stood staring down at the undeniably sexy man sitting in it, I was not only grateful I’d rescued it, but thankful it didn’t have arms either.
I placed my hands on Huck’s shoulders and then carefully walked forward until I was straddling him. I slowly sat down until the backs of my thighs touched the top of his, the juncture of our legs separated by only a few pieces of clothing that I suddenly wished weren’t there. He made a low noise in response, but my mouth was already on his, swallowing his incoherent cursing with insistent kisses. He groaned as I gently rolled my hips forward.
“You’re too much, Cat.”
“Too much how?” I demanded, nipping at his lips with light kisses, dragging my nails through his hair, and pushing my hips into his again.
“Everything. All of you. God, I can’t think straight.”
The first thing Christine does when she’s getting ready to read a book is to crack the spine in at least five places. She wholeheartedly believes there is no place as comfy as the pages of a well-worn book. She’s addicted to buying books, reading books, and writing books. Books, books, books. She also has a weakness for adventure, inappropriate humor, and coke (the caffeine-laden bubbly kind). Christine is from Forest Hill, Maryland where she lives with her husband, three kids, and her library of ugly spine books.