Page 8 of The Path to Loving Him
Okay. So she’s interested. That’s all I need to know to push forward.
I scoot a little closer so she doesn’t have to reach as far. “Think you would come back again?”
“I plan oncoming. . . back, for sure.” She wets her lips with the tip of her tongue, and I’m fucking mesmerized just watching it.
“Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Sadly, yes,” she says as her thumb rubs against my thigh.
“That is sad.” I try not to gulp in front of her from the way her hand on my thigh feels.
Like I said, it’s been a really fucking long time for me.
“I didn’t get to accomplish everything I wanted to while being here.”
“No?” I ask. “What didn’t you accomplish?”
“Well, you see, I’m staying at Five Six Seven Eight, the inn.”
“Yup,” I say, quite aware of the inn.
“And well, one of my responsibilities is to test everything out, including the bed.” I gulp. I can’t hold it back. It happens.
“Oh, uh . . . well, can’t you test it out tonight when you sleep?”
Her hands float up to my chest as she moves in closer. “I don’t like to test it just for sleep . . . Ryland.”
Christ.
I see where this is going, so before she can say it, I cut in. “Do you need help testing it?”
An earth-shattering smirk crosses her lips. “I’d love to have you help me test it.” And then just like that, she slides off her barstool and steps between my legs. “Want to go now?”
Hell, that was quick.
So quick that it almost feels too easy.
Like I’m missing something.
But I like the promise in her gaze because, fuck, I need this.
I lift my glass, keeping my eyes on her, and swig the rest of my drink for courage before setting it down. “I do,” I answer.
“Good. But first, I need to make sure you’re worth it.”
And before I can ask her what she means, she slides her hand behind my neck and pulls me close. I have about one second to wet my lips before she presses her mouth to mine and kisses me.
The moment our lips meet, I feel a bolt of electricity fly through me, kicking up a part of me that I’ve stuffed away for what feels like so long. A dead, hollowed-out piece of me. A piece of me that’s been broken, hurt, and damaged beyond recovery, yet with her lips on mine, it almost feels like it’s healing. And that part of me breaks down a wall, allowing me to wrap my hand around her waist, pull her in even closer, and tilt her mouth up, giving us a better angle. I swipe my tongue across her lip, looking for access, and when she parts her lips, I take that as a sign and slide my tongue against hers.
She leans into me, using my chest to steady herself, and as her kiss grows deeper, she moans against my tongue.
Jesus, I need this.
So fucking bad.
I didn’t know how much I needed this until she started kissing me.
But this . . . this is a drug, a high, something I can find myself becoming easily addicted to. She tastes like alcohol and promises. She kisses like it’s her last. She grips me like she’s holding on to me for safety.
