Kiss To Forget (Blairwood University #2) - Anna B. Doe Page 0,62
her home, now get the hell out.
My hands clench by my sides, but my feet don’t move.
“Nixon?” she asks, still facing the door, but doesn’t make the move to push it open.
“Yeah?” I croak, my voice coming out rougher than intended.
“Why did you come tonight?”
“I already told you. Hayden…”
She turns around to face me. “That’s bullshit, and we both know it.”
There isn’t a trace of the sleepy girl from the cab, now she’s wide awake and waiting for answers. Answers I can’t give her.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
She stares at me, not saying a word. Her face is hard, unreadable, and I wish I knew her better so I’d know what’s going through her mind. But Yasmin Hernandez has been a mystery since the moment I met her. An enigma I wanted to figure out, but could never quite do it.
Finally she takes a step toward me, and then another, until we’re toe to toe.
“Did you have fun scaring Lucas away?”
“A lousy name for a lousy dude,” I mutter, not even pretending not to know who she’s talking about.
She just lifts her brows. “Like Nixon’s better?”
“Hell yeah.” My finger slides under her chin, tipping it upward as I slide my thumb just under her lips. They part slightly as her breath hitches. “At least when I kiss a girl, she looks like it.”
“Maybe because he didn’t kiss me.”
I narrow my eyes, unsure if I believe her. “He was going to.”
I know he was going to, unless he chickened out at the very last moment. Then he’s even dumber than I originally thought.
Her hands fall to my chest, easing their way to my shoulders. “I didn’t let him.”
“Don’t mess with me,” I warn quietly, my grip on her tightening.
She tilts her head to the side, her fingers tracing the outline of my shoulders. “Messing with you is the last thing I want.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I want you to kiss me.”
I stumble back, completely thrown off guard by her request. But Yasmin doesn’t give me a chance to refuse her. Her hand skims to the back of my neck, her nails grazing my skin on their way and making goosebumps appear on my skin. She pulls me down, her mouth crashing against mine as she kisses me.
A soft moan escapes her as our mouths meet. Her lips are even softer than I imagined, and I imagined it a lot. More often than I’d like to admit, she’d sneak into my dreams late at night.
She’s kissing me with fervor, like every minute, every touch counts. Like this is the only chance she’ll get, and she doesn’t want to lose even a second.
Gripping the back of her neck, I tilt her head to the side. She nibbles at my lower lip, her teeth sinking into my flesh. Pain and pleasure crash into me like a wave.
Her tongue slides over my lower lip, soothing the pain away, and I use this moment to mesh my tongue with hers. Her mouth parts, and my tongue slides into her velvet heat, deeper, harder. Our tongues swirl together, tasting, sliding, sucking.
“We should stop,” I murmur, breaking the kiss.
We’re both panting hard, fighting for every ragged breath. Yasmin’s back is pressed against the door, her chest arching into me. Her lipstick is smeared all over her mouth, her mouth looking plump and thoroughly kissed just like it should, and I’m sure I don’t look any better.
“We should,” she agrees readily, but makes no attempt to pull back.
My grip at the nape of her neck tightens, silky strands of her hair intertwining with my fingers.
“This is wrong.”
So, so wrong.
“But it feels so damn good.”
That it does.
I’m so fucking screwed.
But do I stop?
Not a chance in hell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
YASMIN
Nixon Cole tastes like mint, beer, and a lot of bad decisions. Kissing him should be the last thing I want to do. He’s infuriating and overbearing to the point he drives me crazy, but I can’t seem to help myself. I just want to sink into him and let go.
I open the door to my room. Taking a step back, I pull him after me. Once the door is safely shut after us, I push him against the now-closed door and kiss him once again, not holding anything back.
If I’m going to do this, I might as well go all in.
I guess I could always blame it on the alcohol, but I don’t want to.