Page 25 of Hexed Up

My patience snaps. I reach up on my tiptoes in an attempt to reach his mouth. Unfortunately the man is too damn tall. He smirks down at me.

“We could go back to reading the paper–”

He bends down and presses his mouth against mine, tugging me against his body, and running his other hand through my hair to grip the back of my neck. And then we’re kissing.

And, unicorns’ willies, it must be the love potion, because the kissing is good, very good.

I may complain about the skipping foreplay stuff, but if I’m honest, kissing hasn’t really done it for me since I was a teen.

Now, I suspect that may be because I haven’t been kissed right. Because Mr Hottie kisses me with a passion and a tenderness and an undeniable want.

His lips are soft but firm and they feel just as good to kiss as they do to admire.

He groans into my mouth, dragging me closer still and I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, not sure if I’m standing anymore or if he’s holding me aloft.

We kiss like this for several minutes and then he’s nudging his tongue between my lips and invading my mouth, stroking his tongue against mine.

I half expect my demon friend, or even my big sister, to appear and demand we stop immediately, because this may only be kissing but it is definitely intimate and definitely hot, my body tingling into life and a familiar pulse beginning between my legs.

I’m not sure a kiss has ever had that impact on me before and definitely not so quickly. Forget about my magic, this man has something supernatural about his lips and what he can do with them. I recall the urge I had earlier to sink my teeth into his plump bottom lip and I nip at it now.

He pulls away from me, smirk on his self-satisfied face – an expression that somehow makes him even hotter. His hair’s all ruffled from my fingers and his lips are already a little swollen.

“Want to make out for the rest of the afternoon?” he asks me.

“Sure, why not?” I say, because, hell, in for a penny, in for a pound.

He growls and then he’s devouring my mouth again and I try really hard not to think about how good that mouth would feel between my legs.

Chapter Nine

The kissing is good – really good.

Two hours later, we’re still kissing.

If I’m honest, I may, on the odd occasion, have imagined what it would be like to kiss Mr Hottie (among other things). Mostly I considered doing it for the shock tactic, something that would stop him from grumbling at me when he was droning on with one of his many complaints. I concluded that kissing Mr Hottie would be a bit restricted, a little self-conscious, probably quite rigid.

Kissing Horatio Shaw is none of those things.

In fact, I’m not sure I knew there were quite as many waystokiss.

Slow, languid, sensual.

Fast, passionate, hungry.

Lazy, sloppy, sexy.

Penetrating, ploughing, overwhelming.

I think I like them all.

I especially liked when his hands shifted to my arse and he lifted me up, letting my legs curl around his waist, and carried us over to the couch, where we’ve been ever since – in various different positions.

This current position may be my favourite, I’m straddling his lap and his hands are idling up and down my back, occasionally straying back to my arse again for an impromptu squeeze that sends my pulse racing.

It’s not just the kissing that’s been surprising. It’s also the fact that he’s kept to his word and apart from the odd grope of my arse, we’ve kept things somewhat PG-rated.

And it’s been nice. It’s reminded me just how good spending an afternoon kissing a hot man can be.