and changing.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. How could I have lost all my layers of protection in just a few weeks? Maybe it was just time. After two years of clouds and rain and storms, maybe it’s just time the sun shines its brightness out a fraction.
I edge a little closer, or maybe I just do it subconsciously. I’m not sure if my buttcheeks actually move off the spot where I’m parked. Perhaps I just feel closer. I look at her now, somehow feeling braver. She’s not saying anything, but I focus on her lips. Her lips are beautiful. Symmetrical and perfect. Full without being too full, they’re easily natural and not boosted by injections or whatever procedure is popular right now. They look soft, and I know they’re soft because I’ve had the opportunity to experience it. I’m surprised at how badly I want to kiss her right now.
Suddenly, she inhales softly, and I know she knows. She’s very perceptive, and she’s good at reading me. Unsettlingly good.
I finally gaze into her eyes and find them deep enough to fall into, dark and heavy lidden. Every time she blinks, it’s like she’s trying to blink away what she really wants.
I get it.
I feel jumpy because this feels sudden. Too sudden. I’m not a spontaneous person, and I don’t get out of control. Well, minus the Christmas whisky incident.
I haven’t read many manuscripts at work lately since I’m on top of things, and with success, I was able to hire other people to do that a long time ago, but when I used to sit there and read, I was always surprised at the pure trash that came across my desk: garbage romance, almost all of it. Sometimes I’d burst out laughing at how ridiculous it all was. I guess by then, I’d forgotten what it was like to want a person so badly and so wildly that your whole body feels like it no longer belongs to you because it doesn’t follow any of your commands.
I’ve been worn down now for so long—worn into this thin, lifeless thing, worn into a rut and smushed and crushed down with all the passing tires like an old western wagon train analogy—that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive, to get goosebumps.
Britt and I were together for a long time, and I guess some of those sharper needs and hard impulses softened into a much more gentle passion based on familiarity and trust.
Right now, I don’t feel familiar, I have goosebumps, and my dick is slowly taking over my brain. The fucker might not have hands, but he’s the one driving. I’m shocked that I feel like one of those characters in the trash romances I’d always toss in the trash and send out a rejection letter to.
Right now, I’m all sharp edges and red hot emotion.
Maybe Feeney is too because she leans forward just a fraction, which does it. I move, she moves, and we crush together, our arms frantically wrapping around each other. Her hands pull me in, claw at my scalp, and tug at my hair. My lips crush hers as I devour her. She’s definitely sharp edges and red hot emotion. I feel like she could burn me up. She burns through me as her nails scrape over my scalp, and her teeth move over my bottom lip as her tongue thrusts against mine.
This could ruin everything, or it could fix everything. I have no way of knowing how it’s going to go.
CHAPTER 17
Feeney
Oh my chicken nuggets, this is a good kiss. Luke is beautiful. He’s huge—the typical larger than life. He’d steal anyone’s breath just by showing up, but this isn’t just showing up. This is him, pressed up against me until my nipples feel like they’re going to go full-on paper shredder mode against my bra and shirt. This is him leaning into me, giving me zero doubt that he’s just as turned on and ready as I am. His panties might not be soaked because he’s not wearing panties, but there is a definite bulge in his jeans that throbs against my stomach where it’s pressed against. All of a sudden, his tongue probes past my lips and enters me. My mouth, I mean, but even that is hot enough to set my body on edge.
“W-wait,” I stammer. I pull back an inch and nearly miss getting my lip ripped off as Luke goes in to nip me.
His hand is at