Page 27 of How to Get Lucky
She rolls her eyes. “Well, yeah. You were there last night. Don’t you think you kiss like a rock star?”
I laugh. “I’m more interested in what you think of my kissing. And I’m so not thinking about kissing you again,” I lie.
What I’m really not thinking about is about work.
Or her brother.
Or the tangled webs we weave.
I’m not even thinking too much about the fact that I need to jet in twenty minutes to get to the radio station in time.
Because when the woman you’re into tells her buds she can’t get enough of you, everything else falls by the wayside.
The second she removes her glasses, the moment shifts. I take her face in my hands and give in again.
As the sun dips toward the ocean, I forget about all the roadblocks, because I’m the guy she told her friends about. I like being that guy right now.
Because that guy has his hands on London.
I bring her closer, clasp harder, and slide my tongue across her lips. Her soft, lush, fantastic-tasting lips.
Especially when they part for me, when she lets out a needy murmur and draws me closer, even with her dog in her lap.
Following her cues, I deepen the kiss—with lips, with hands, with contact, moving closer in the cramped space of the car.
I slide a hand through her hair as the moment amps up, and we kiss harder, hungrier.
It’s next-level kissing—teeth nipping at lips, tongues exploring, bodies inching toward more delicious, devouring territory.
Her hands travel to my stomach, sliding under my shirt and up my abs to my pecs.
She stops there, curling them over my chest, but I don’t want to stop. I want to bring her inside my home, undress her, and explore her.
Except those lines are so much riskier than this one.
This one in the car in a parking lot.
This one that can only go so far.
Because I can’t go too far.
Or I’ll do something stupider.
For now, stupid is enough. Stupid like pretending this fantastic, mind-numbing kiss doesn’t break the rules we set last night.
I stay here, my hands roping through her hair, my tongue tangoing with hers, her scent going to my head.
I don’t want to end the kiss, and I don’t think she does either.
But a small, soft tongue licks my face.
And it’s not hers.
I laugh, and we break apart—panting, turned on, and totally cracking up about the dog getting in on the action.
“So we’re just going to pretend that was, like, an extension kiss,” I offer after we catch our breath.
“Of yesterday’s?”
“Exactly,” I say.
“And it won’t happen again,” she says, intensely serious.
“It absolutely won’t. And I won’t be thinking of undoing this shirt,” I say, unclicking her seat belt then tugging lightly at the soft cotton, sliding my hand under it, letting my fingers trace her skin.
She gasps as I journey across her soft stomach, savoring the feel of her flesh for the first time.
My fingers are on a mission—slide higher, travel farther, discover the lush lands of London.
Ah, hell. What’s one more kiss?
With my hand firmly on the pert mound of her breast, I return to her lips and kiss her harder, my head a hazy, static blur of lust and desire. My body hums with the need to crank the seat back, pull her on top of me, and say fuck everything so I can fuck her.
I tug at her waist, gripping her hip, yanking her close.
London slides on top of me, straddling me, and I run my hands up her back, hauling her in for a hot full-body kiss. I want to spend the rest of the night with her like this, on top of me, here in her car, our bodies grinding.
My hands travel down to her ass, gripping those tight, firm cheeks and dragging her closer. She rocks against the ridge of my erection, and my bones vibrate with lust, my brain going hazy with desire. She breathes out hard then kisses harder, pressing and pushing.
London is hungry and confident, and it’s so damn sexy.
I rub against her as her breathing grows more erratic, like maybe, just maybe, she could come like this.
As soon as that tantalizing thought flicks through my head, I imagine London’s noises, her expressions, the telltale signs that she’s close.
Will I be lucky enough to discover those signs?
Will they become part of my London lexicon?
I’d like to know them all.
Especially since this kiss in the front seat of her car has gone from zero to sixty in seconds, and I want to see how much further it can go.
I run a hand along her arm, and she feels like . . . fur.
What the hell?
I yank apart from London to find Mr. Darcy pumping her arm.
I groan. “Umm.”
“Mr. Darcy! You naughty boy.”
She grabs him, but he’s still humping air as she returns to the driver’s seat.
