Page 69 of Checking It Twice
It’s not the sweet, tentative kiss from the pond. This is hungry, desperate, all tongue and barely restrained need. I melt into him immediately, my hands fisting in his sweater as he backs me against the shelves.
A jar of something rattles behind me, and I don’t care. All I care about is the way he kisses me, the way his body cages me in like he can’t get close enough.
“We shouldn’t,” I gasp between kisses, even as my hands slide up to tangle in his hair.
“Probably not,” he agrees, his mouth moving to that spot on my neck that makes my knees buckle. “Tell me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.”
He makes a sound that’s half laugh, half groan and pulls back just enough to look at me.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he says, echoing his words from last night.
“Good,” I say, surprising myself with the honesty. “You’re not exactly safe for my sanity either.”
“Good,” he echoes, and then he’s kissing me again, slower this time but no less intense.
This is madness. We’re in his parents’ pantry while his entire family sits twenty feet away, and I’m letting him kiss me senseless like we’re teenagers sneaking around.
But I can’t make myself care about the risk, about the complications, about anything except the way he holds me like I’m something precious even while he’s taking me apart piece by piece.
“We should get back,” I whisper against his mouth.
“Yeah,” he agrees, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he presses closer, his forehead resting against mine. “In a minute.”
“They’ll notice we’re gone.”
“Let them notice.”
The casual confidence in his voice sends heat spiraling through me. Like he doesn’t care who knows, like he’s done pretending this is anything other than what it is.
Real. Dangerous. Worth the risk.
“Mitch,” I start, but he cuts me off with another kiss, softer this time, almost tender.
“I know,” he says when he pulls away. “I know it’s complicated. But I’m not sorry.”
Neither am I. That’s the terrifying part.
I’m not sorry about last night, or this morning’s easy intimacy, or the way he makes me forget every rational reason why this is a terrible idea.
I’m not sorry, and I should be.
“We really should—” I begin.
The pantry door swings open, flooding us with light and Maddie’s knowing grin.
“Found them,” she calls over her shoulder. “They were just... organizing spices.”
Heat floods my face as I realize how we must look—Mitch’s hair tousled from my fingers, my lips probably swollen fromkissing, both of us breathing harder than warranted by spice organization.
“Very thorough organization,” Evan’s voice drifts from the dining room, followed by various chuckles and knowing comments.
“Shut up,” Mitch calls back, but he’s grinning as he steps away from me, his hand finding mine automatically.
“Come on, you two,” Maddie says, still smirking. “Before Mom comes looking. She’s already asking pointed questions about when you’re planning to give her more grandchildren.”
My face burns hotter, but Mitch just squeezes my hand and leads me back toward the chaos of his family.
