Work In Progress (Red Lipstick Coalition #3) - Staci Hart Page 0,45
not.” Her little face twisted in offense. “I hope you’re not suggesting that…that you…throw me a bone.”
A laugh burst out of me.
Somehow, that offense twisted tighter. “You know what I mean, Thomas Bane. I don’t need a sexual handout, thank you very much.”
“I didn’t say you did. I don’t hate the idea, but no…that’s not what I was suggesting. I was only curious.”
The twist eased, but only marginally. “I’ve waited this long. And that’s not to say I’m holding out for marriage—”
We shared a look and laughed.
“I mean, a real marriage. But I at least want it to be with someone I care about. Call me old fashioned, but there it is.”
I shook my head and shifted into her. “I don’t think it’s old fashioned.”
Her face turned up to mine as I invaded her space.
One hand slipped into her glossy hair. The other palmed the curve of her hip, urging her closer to me. “There’s only one thing left to address.”
Her eyes were liquid silver, searching mine.
“A wrong needs to be set right.”
Her brows stitched together in confusion.
But before she could speak, I leaned in and pulled her into me in the same motion, pressing my lips to hers just as the fountain below us shot to life.
Lips, tentative and unpracticed, stiff against mine for only a second.
And then those lips were mine.
They softened, supple and sweet, testing mine, tasting mine. I swept the seam of her mouth with my tongue—a request. And her lips parted to let me in. Her arms threaded around my neck, a humming moan from the base of her throat that I could taste. Those arms squeezed, pulling me closer, her face angling to open her mouth wider, to delve deeper into my mouth with pleasure and illumination, as if she’d discovered something vital, something necessary to her.
She kissed me, thoroughly and without hesitation or shame. She kissed me with enthusiasm I matched with my own, taking a long, sweet moment to touch her face, her hair, her arms, her waist—every safe place I could. And all the while, I surveyed each place we touched, acquainted myself with what my fingers and lips could taste.
She seemed to find herself, to my sadness. The kiss slowed, then stopped, her lips breaking from mine. I pressed my forehead to hers for a moment, reeling. My hands rested on her hips, her body pressed against mine, her arms still hanging from my neck. The fountain burst in waves, the lights shifting, coloring her pale skin.
“Now I can rest easy,” I said, my voice gravel and fire, “now that you’ve been kissed properly.”
And with that, I let her go and turned, stepping to the end table to retrieve our drinks, the picture of calm collectiveness. I smirked and smoldered at her to cover the crack in my foundation that kiss had rent.
That was not the kiss of a girl who was not interested.
With the knowledge of her inexperience, I understood her refusal had nothing to do with me. She needed to be wooed, to be loved. She needed to feel safe, needed to be cared for.
And those were all things I could provide.
I handed her her drink, my eyes lighting on her swollen lips, hoping to God she’d change her mind about me.
I didn’t know if I’d truly rest until she did.
An idea sprang in my mind, warmed by the scotch and the prospect of possessing such a creature as the one before me. I’d been around long enough to know exactly what the feelings I had for her meant. I knew the power of the chemistry between us.
With time, I knew could care for her very much. I also knew with a tingling in my guts that she would protect me with the fierceness that I would protect her. In that, we were equals.
And with that, we were partners.
I only had to discover if she could care for me, too.
And that was a challenge I found I’d already accepted.
Hymenology
Amelia
My phone buzzed in my lap.
Again.
I sighed, leaning back in the leather seat of the Mercedes. We were in what felt like a soundproof bubble, the noise of the city nonexistent as we crossed into Manhattan from Newark. The only sounds were the soft, quiet music floating from the speakers and the buzzing vibration of my damnable phone.
Tommy smirked at me. “Your friends don’t quit, do they?”
“Well, I did run off and get married to an infamous bachelor without telling them. You’d be worried, too.”