Page 128 of Reckless
That impossible ability to make me feel less ashamed of myself with one sentence.
I hated how good he was at that.
No.That was a lie too.
I loved it.That was the problem.
I stepped into him before I could overthink it, one hand going flat to his chest, the other still clutching my sweater and bra and whatever else I hadn’t put on yet.
His hands came to my waist automatically.
Warm.Solid.Familiar already.
I tipped my head back and said, “That was a very precarious thing to say to me right after I had sex with you.”
His thumb moved under the edge of my camisole where my skin was still bare and sensitive.“Why.”
“Because now I want to kiss you again and that feels irresponsible.”
One side of his mouth tipped.
That was all it took.
I kissed him hard to make him take one step back in the sand.
That made me feel better.
Because if he was going to keep saying things that got under my skin like that, he could at least suffer a little for it.
His hands tightened at my waist and then he kissed me back with that same treacherous mix he seemed determined to ruin me with, heat and control and something so stupidly romantic under both that it made the whole thing worse.
This kiss was different from the ones before.
Less edge.
More wonder.
But because the pressure had broken.
We weren’t circling anymore.
We knew.
And somehow that made the wanting feel fuller, not flatter.
I slid my hands up into his hair and took my time kissing him, because for the first time in my life I knew what I was doing with a man and why I was doing it.
That alone nearly made me emotional.
And all of it, the beach, the sex, him holding me like I was something he wanted and something he meant to take care of, felt unreal in the best way.
When we finally broke apart, I let my forehead fall against his chest and listened to the thud of his heart under my ear.
Fast.
That made me inappropriately happy.
“You’re very pleased with yourself,” he murmured into my hair.
