Filthy English (English #2) - Ilsa Madden-Mills Page 0,42
an ordained minister.”
“He’s teasing,” Dax said, pulling my attention back to him.
Oh.
“Now what?” I asked, looking from the Friar and back to Dax. “Don’t we kiss or something?”
The Friar smiled, eyeing us both dubiously. “Do whatever you want. I’ve done my job here, and I have a client waiting.” He pointed to another station where a lanky guy was busy tattooing a customer. “That’s Zack. He’ll be doing your art today in about an hour. Just go on over when you’re ready.”
He walked away, and we turned back toward each other.
Dax took my hand and laced our fingers together.
Were we going to kiss?
My eyes went to his mouth, taking in the plump curve of his sculpted lower lip, the indentation.
“You’re looking at me like you want to kiss me,” he said with a naughty chuckle.
“Maybe. It is the final step in a marriage ceremony.”
“Just don’t fall back in love with me,” he teased.
“Pffft—who said I ever did? Plus, I’ll think of England the entire time.”
“You’ll think only about me because I kiss that good.”
“You’re a cocky bastard,” I said, smiling.
Another chuckle. “True. Do we need to tear up our contract?”
I thought about it. Shrugged. “No. This is pretend.”
A knowing gleam lit his eyes. “Admit it, I’m irresistible.”
“You’re something.”
But the back and forth banter stopped when he tilted my chin up, his eyes low as they landed on my mouth. Air, textured and heavy, settled over us.
“I’m going all in, Remi.”
What?
I yanked my chin away. “What does that even mean? This is supposed to be a pretend kiss, but you just said you’re all in, and the Dax I know is never all in. He’s casually indifferent to women, a player who goes through women like . . . like a bird goes through worms. You’re a man-slut.”
“You mean man-whore?”
“I like you too much to use that word.”
“Indeed,” he murmured, biting his lip. “I like you too, angel.”
My heart ached, and I dipped my eyes so he couldn’t see how devastated I was by his nonchalant endearment. He didn’t mean it. Not really. He called lots of girls angel. I’d heard him.
All the old feelings and darkness I’d struggled with for three years came roaring to the forefront of my mind, and I took a step back.
“I—I can’t kiss you,” I breathed, my hands fisting.
“It’s easy. You pucker up and it’s done. I don’t see the problem. We’ve done it a thousand times,” he added, pulling me back against him. “Kiss me, Remi.”
I shivered, feeling our undeniable pull. “You make me so crazy, I want to scream.”
“Hallelujah?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m—I’m scared.”
Scared he would bury my heart alive and walk away. Again.
“Kiss me. Please.”
My breath caught at the way he begged me. “We can just tell them we did.”
A long exhale came out. “Goddammit, Remi, just kiss me.” His voice was hoarse, his need apparent.
My mouth parted and his crashed down, fusing with mine. Our tongues met and I attempted to keep it light, but he didn’t allow it, his hands digging into my scalp as he groaned and deepened the pressure. Heat licked up my spine.
God. I pulled back.
“Let go, Remi,” he whispered. “Feel what’s between us. Just one kiss. I promise.”
But . . .
It wouldn’t be just one.
The smell of him, like summer rain and sunshine, hit me, and my arms curled around his hips, my fingers slipping under his shirt and digging into the muscles of his back.
He kissed me, owning my lips with lust and passion, and slowly, ever so softly, I went down the rabbit hole with him, where the entire world whispered yes, him.
He pulled back too soon, and my lips chased after his; I whimpered until he kissed me again, shorter ones, slowing us down. His hands bunched in my hair and he tugged, making me gasp.
“This is crazy,” he breathed. “I—I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t stop myself . . .”
My heart fluttered like moth wings, papery and breathless as if I might disintegrate. “Dax.” I swallowed. “This feels . . .”
“Good?”
“Yes.”
“Is it the best kiss you ever had?” His tongue licked my upper lip. Lightning bolts of heat struck my body.
A reluctant moan came from me. “Yes . . .”
“I won’t let him have you,” he murmured.
I didn’t have to ask who him was.
His lips captured mine again. Demanding. Pillaging.
My entire body thundered with need. I wanted him more than donuts and birds—more than I’d wanted Hartford. I wanted him to take me hard and fast, then slow