The F List - Alessandra Torre Page 0,55
chewed apart by sharks.”
Dana Diench, Producer, House of Fame
63
#shutupandkissme
EMMA
Did I want to kiss him? Of course, I did. My head pounded with the need. Every fantasy I’d had for the last five years involved kissing me. And now, here, he wanted to kiss me.
I needed it, but my heart was still stuttering over what he had just said about his mom. I couldn’t understand how anyone could avoid Wesley—or punish him by withholding affection. What had it been like for Cash, growing up with a mother like that? The knowledge redefined every assumption I’d ever had about his life and upbringing. It made me respect him, and I felt a sudden and fierce gratefulness for everything he must have done to protect and care for Wesley.
I tightened my legs around him and let them hold me up, freeing my hands to explore his face. I ran a tentative hand through his hair and watched as his eyes closed, then reopened. He gripped my butt, one cheek in each hand, and thank God I’d wore sexy underwear. I traced my fingers over his forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. Those lips. He watched me, those dark blue eyes almost glowing. I avoided meeting them, putting my focus on the small scar on his nose, the light shadow of facial hair along his jaw, the strong cleft of his cheekbones. He was heartbreakingly perfect. Masculine—yet, in those eyes, a hint of vulnerability.
It should have made me bolder, but it only caused my panic to rise. "I—"
I was going to say that I didn't know what to do with him, but then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine. Softly, like he was creaking open a door, unsure if anyone was home. My lips parted, and I inhaled, then pressed back, a sweet and salty connection that deepened as his tongue met mine. One of his hands tightened on my ass as the other journeyed up my back, crushing me to him as our kiss grew more frantic and needy. I lost my hesitation and scraped my hands through his hair, fisting the short strands as our mouths battled against each other. Soft then hard. Deep then shallow. He cupped my face and kissed the side of my mouth, my jaw, my neck. He bruised my skin with his tongue as I clawed at his back. His hand found my breast, and I gasped as his touch turned gentle, his mouth softening, finding mine again as he caressed me.
I pulled back, my legs coming loose of his torso, and I put the soles of my feet against his chest and pushed, propelling me away from him.
He let me go, and I treaded in place, catching my breath as my body hummed with the insane need to get back into his arms. I had thought for a long time about kissing him, and it was better than I had ever dreamed. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have everything. Fame, followers, and sex appeal, plus chemistry and a mouth like that? How was a woman supposed to co-exist with that? How was I supposed to live in a house one hallway down from that and function as a member of society?
I should get back to the house. This wasn't part of the script, wasn't on the episode list. I was supposed to be making out with Layton next to the bonfire, then starting an argument with Eileen about her parents versus my parents. It was all there, cut into ten-minute segments and printed on 8.5 by 11 paper and distributed to all of the cast members and crew.
An engine rumbled from somewhere, and I glanced at the shore.
“Hey.” He splashed water in my direction. “Come here.”
I ignored him, ducking under the water to wet my hair and shock myself back into reality. I was Emma Blanton. Cool and witty Emma Blanton. Practically famous. Worthy of the click-to-follow action of forty-two million people.
I could do anything. Swim back over to him and kiss him again. Laugh at his seduction abilities and make a cruel joke. Play the aloof friend card and pretend that none of what just happened mattered, and I kiss hot boys in cold oceans all the time. I bobbed in the water and watched as a spotlight traveled across the water and flickered over us. “I’m a virgin.”
I couldn't see his face in the dark, and I was grateful for that. I didn't want to know what he was thinking or how