Winning With Him (Men of Summer #2) - Lauren Blakely Page 0,35
of seconds. “Thanks,” Grant says, then knocks some of his drink back, and all I can think is I want his Diet Coke kiss so badly.
But I have to earn it.
So, when he sets down the glass, I do the same, then I go for broke, laying my cards on the table. “I messed up when I cut you off. I regret it every day. I haven’t been with anyone else since you, and I want to tell you what happened,” I say, and it’s not my finest moment, it’s not a great speech, but I hope it’ll get the ball rolling.
Grant’s quiet at first, his fingers straying to his tie, unknotting it more, but like he’s not quite sure how it works. “I haven’t been with anyone either.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “That’s not a game-changer for me, though. I want you to know that. Even if you’d been with someone, I’d still want you again.”
“But I haven’t,” he adds.
“Good,” I say, my lips crooking up in a grin as his fingers toy with the knot once more.
“I want to tell you what went down, but first . . .” I take a step closer, reach for the blue silk. “Let me help.”
I’m a thief, and I’ll steal this chance to move a little bit closer and reach up to undo his tie.
“I know how to untie a tie,” he says, a little annoyed, but it’s a feeble protest. When my fingers reach for the silky fabric, he doesn’t stop me.
“I don’t doubt you do,” I say, my breath coming fast and hard, the air charged, the sparks crackling in the space between us. “I just want to help.”
He moves his palms behind him, setting them on the counter as I undo the tie the rest of the way, my hands so close to him as I go, my fingers brushing against his chest, my body lighting up from the close contact.
Once the knot is undone, I tug off the silk, leave it on the counter.
I’m about to ask if he wants to sit down and talk, since I know that’s what we need to do.
But Grant is faster.
He moves like a cheetah.
In less than a second, his hand ropes through my hair, and he brings his lips so close to mine.
Stopping when he’s a millimeter away.
His breath ghosts across my face. His fingers curl tighter around my skull, and my body hums with need.
Buzzes with desire.
Kiss me, I want to say.
But I need him to be the one to do it.
Need him to finish what he’s starting.
This test.
It sure as hell feels like a test. Like he’s dipping a toe in the waters of his own desire, checking the temperature.
Come on in, rookie. The water’s nice.
He says nothing, but the noises he makes tell all. The low, velvety rumble from his throat sounds like coming home.
“Mmm. Want to kiss you so fucking badly,” he murmurs, and if death by desire is possible, it just happened to me.
Yes, some do say the world will end in fire, and that’s fine by me.
I am officially dead.
And I’ve gone to dirty heaven when Grant drops his lips to mine.
He kisses the breath out of me.
My God, it’s better than before. My memories didn’t lie. Time didn’t erase us. We are still fire.
That’s how he kisses me—like the world is burning down around us, and this is how he wants to go—up in flames, stoked by this passion.
His lips are greedy. His mouth explores mine like kissing me is the missing piece. Like this is what we’re falling back into.
This heat. This connection. All this possibility.
It’s like a whole new first kiss as his mouth takes over, owning my lips. A heavy warmth spreads in my body, along my thighs, down to my dick, where it sets up camp.
I’m aching with arousal. Hungry to get reacquainted with this man.
But I’ll take whatever he’s willing to give—and give he does. He kisses deep and hard, his tongue skating over mine, his lips feasting like we’ve never done this before and it’s all we ever want to do.
He groans as he kisses me, and his noises ignite flares of pleasure. Here, there, a spark, a flame, a fire. They make me moan too, and our mingling sounds are like jet fuel. This kiss is rocketing to the stratosphere, powered by harsh breaths and hot growls, and now . . . hands.
His hands cover me. Those big, strong hands that I’ve missed.