is gone?” he asks, his husky voice turning me on further.
“Absolutely,” I tell him.
He smiles knowingly at me, spins me around then grabs my hand, dragging me towards the exit. We’re almost through the threshold when Nash comes into site. He’s staring right at me, a scowl on his face. But when my eyes meet his he smiles at me and winks. Winks. Which, for some reason, pisses me off.
The crisp evening air assaults my body and I willingly accept it because suddenly my head is not swimming in alcohol. As soon as we’re past the lingering crowd, Angel releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I automatically snuggle into his warm body as we continue to make our way across his yard. He brings me up a small set of stairs and onto his back porch. Leaning against the railing, he pulls me between his legs and I gladly fall into him.
“So what’d you think?” he asks me.
“About the performance?”
“Yeah.”
I laugh. “I don’t think your ego needs anymore feeding.”
“My ego always needs feeding.”
“So you’re not concerned there’s a possibility I didn’t enjoy it?”
“I had my eyes on you all night, Presley. So, no, I’m not concerned.”
“Fine. I loved it.”
He gives me a cocky smile. “I want to kiss you.”
I stand on my tiptoes, reaching for him, he slides down the railing enough so I can link my fingers behind his neck. He cups my face and tilts my lips to his. When his lips are finally on mine I let out a long breath of relief into his mouth. His lips feel just like I remember; warm and soft but in control. He moves my lips with his as his hand slides into my hair. He gently angles my head so that his tongue has easier access. As it slides into my mouth a pain ignites between my legs and my fingers pull at his hair as my tongue caresses his. But then he pulls back, easing out of my mouth. “Easy,” he whispers, before taking my lips in his again.
And it throws me.
He’s kissing me with just as much confidence and passion as before, but suddenly my brain got invited to the spit swapping party and now I’m self-conscious. All I can think about are all the other girls he’s kissed that are in it for the same reason as him. Maybe they all approach everything, including kissing, with a strategy and notes. Am I kissing the wrong way? Is there a proper way to kiss? Should I have read a manual before getting into this with him? Shit.
He doesn’t seem to notice my new lack of enthusiasm because he picks me up, hoists me onto his waist and walks me over to one of the patio chairs, sitting down with me still attached to his waist. I can feel the hard length under my thin pants which is reassuring – I may not be well read on the topic of making out, but I must be doing something right.
His hands find the hem of my shirt and slowly make the ascent up my stomach until they are cupping my breasts. Which is a setback I hoped the copious amounts of alcohol would have eliminated. I immediately go into self-conscious mode. My breasts are appalling and the thought of him touching them sends a queasy feeling through my body which quickly overcomes all the sensations of desire that had been running through me.
Before I can think to stop myself, I’ve eased out of his mouth and have my hands firmly planted on his shoulders, pushing my body away from his. Thank god it’s dark out here and I can’t see the expression on his face and he, hopefully, can’t see how uncomfortable and embarrassed I am. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“What are you sorry for?” he whispers back.
“I’m just… not ready for this.”
“For what? Me groping your breasts?” he lets out an easy laugh but it doesn’t ease my worries.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I reluctantly admit.
“It’s fine,” he tells me. “It’s getting late anyway. I should probably get you home.”
What? That’s it? No, we can just talk, or I’m good with just kissing for now? What the hell.
I climb off his lap and tell him,
“Absolutely,” I tell him.
He smiles knowingly at me, spins me around then grabs my hand, dragging me towards the exit. We’re almost through the threshold when Nash comes into site. He’s staring right at me, a scowl on his face. But when my eyes meet his he smiles at me and winks. Winks. Which, for some reason, pisses me off.
The crisp evening air assaults my body and I willingly accept it because suddenly my head is not swimming in alcohol. As soon as we’re past the lingering crowd, Angel releases my hand and wraps his arm around my shoulder. I automatically snuggle into his warm body as we continue to make our way across his yard. He brings me up a small set of stairs and onto his back porch. Leaning against the railing, he pulls me between his legs and I gladly fall into him.
“So what’d you think?” he asks me.
“About the performance?”
“Yeah.”
I laugh. “I don’t think your ego needs anymore feeding.”
“My ego always needs feeding.”
“So you’re not concerned there’s a possibility I didn’t enjoy it?”
“I had my eyes on you all night, Presley. So, no, I’m not concerned.”
“Fine. I loved it.”
He gives me a cocky smile. “I want to kiss you.”
I stand on my tiptoes, reaching for him, he slides down the railing enough so I can link my fingers behind his neck. He cups my face and tilts my lips to his. When his lips are finally on mine I let out a long breath of relief into his mouth. His lips feel just like I remember; warm and soft but in control. He moves my lips with his as his hand slides into my hair. He gently angles my head so that his tongue has easier access. As it slides into my mouth a pain ignites between my legs and my fingers pull at his hair as my tongue caresses his. But then he pulls back, easing out of my mouth. “Easy,” he whispers, before taking my lips in his again.
And it throws me.
He’s kissing me with just as much confidence and passion as before, but suddenly my brain got invited to the spit swapping party and now I’m self-conscious. All I can think about are all the other girls he’s kissed that are in it for the same reason as him. Maybe they all approach everything, including kissing, with a strategy and notes. Am I kissing the wrong way? Is there a proper way to kiss? Should I have read a manual before getting into this with him? Shit.
He doesn’t seem to notice my new lack of enthusiasm because he picks me up, hoists me onto his waist and walks me over to one of the patio chairs, sitting down with me still attached to his waist. I can feel the hard length under my thin pants which is reassuring – I may not be well read on the topic of making out, but I must be doing something right.
His hands find the hem of my shirt and slowly make the ascent up my stomach until they are cupping my breasts. Which is a setback I hoped the copious amounts of alcohol would have eliminated. I immediately go into self-conscious mode. My breasts are appalling and the thought of him touching them sends a queasy feeling through my body which quickly overcomes all the sensations of desire that had been running through me.
Before I can think to stop myself, I’ve eased out of his mouth and have my hands firmly planted on his shoulders, pushing my body away from his. Thank god it’s dark out here and I can’t see the expression on his face and he, hopefully, can’t see how uncomfortable and embarrassed I am. “Sorry,” I whisper.
“What are you sorry for?” he whispers back.
“I’m just… not ready for this.”
“For what? Me groping your breasts?” he lets out an easy laugh but it doesn’t ease my worries.
“Yeah. Maybe,” I reluctantly admit.
“It’s fine,” he tells me. “It’s getting late anyway. I should probably get you home.”
What? That’s it? No, we can just talk, or I’m good with just kissing for now? What the hell.
I climb off his lap and tell him,
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