Page 12 of The Virgin Game Plan (Rules of Love 2)
My answer comes out in a breathy, lust-drenched whisper. “Yes.”
Electricity crackles between us as Holden inches closer.
Stops.
Holds my gaze.
I swallow, my throat dry. I long to taste his mouth, to know if he’s salty-sweet. He leans in closer, and my breath shallows as my chest squeezes.
Once again, he halts.
My heartbeat staggers, and I ache everywhere.
Please kiss me.
He lifts a hand, hovering it close to my face, and I’m trapped in suspended anticipation, caught in a heady, teasing snare.
I half want to stay here, in this limbo between the prospect of a kiss and the kiss itself. But I desperately crave the contact. Crave it like I’ve never craved a kiss before.
His thumb makes contact with my jawline. Slow. Agonizingly slow and deliciously tender. Leaning into his hand, I nearly combust. A throaty gasp escapes my lips.
My God, who is this man who can turn me inside out with barely a touch? I’m sparkling, lit up like a carnival game going wild for the winner.
His thumb skims along my face, all while his green-eyed gaze darkens, turns hotter as he stares at me, then stares harder at my lips.
He moves closer again. His lips are dangerously near. I part mine, waiting, hoping.
Longing.
It pulls me into his sexual orbit, my skin humming.
I can’t take it anymore. I need his touch. Now. “Kiss me, please,” I whisper, almost begging.
Pretty sure he wanted me to plead, since his mouth crooks up in a grin. “Since you asked so nicely,” he says in a sultry tone that makes my libido sing. We’re talking crawl across the baby grand, grab the mic, and croon a torch song.
At last, at long last, Holden brushes his lips to mine.
My breath catches, and my world tunnels to this moment, this touch. Nothing exists but the way he makes me feel. Sparks burst inside every cell, taking me hostage as his confident lips travel over mine.
He’s gentle but determined, exploring the terrain of my mouth like he’s mapping me with his desire.
My stomach swoops with every millimeter, every inch. Melting takes on a whole new meaning as all my cells go hot, as if I’m glowing like an incandescent lamp.
Maybe I am.
He kisses me that way—like he can light me up from head to toe, like he can ignite every molecule. His hands get in on the action too, as he slides his thumb more roughly along my jaw, possessively, even. One big hand cups my cheek, holding me in place.
All that anticipation crests, then careens down, rushing into full-blown desire, blasting into a new kind of need, here on the steps of the history building, under a canopy of trees, the sun dipping in the sky.
What have I become?
I’ve gone from a professional, focused woman to turn-me-inside-out Reese.
With one daring kiss.
Holden doesn’t let go. His hand slides into my hair, his strong fingers threading through my strands as his mouth discovers how I like to be kissed.
As I discover it too.
At the same time, we’re learning . . . me.
He’s tender in his touch but somehow commanding too, like he knows my after-dark dreams and wants to fulfill them.
And maybe he alone can.
I’m sure I’m reading too much into one kiss.
But then, I’ve never had a kiss like this before, one that reverberates in my marrow, that scrambles every thought.
It’s a kiss that doesn’t stop.
Instead, he changes tempo. He slows the pace, kissing slow and hot and deep. Then he shifts, gliding his mouth along my jawline, to my neck, to my ear, and I’m utterly lost.
Lost in the thrill of the best kiss in the world. His hands rope into my hair, his lips travel over my face, and his sexy sighs fill my ears.
“Holden,” I murmur, and his name is like melting chocolate on my tongue.
“Mmm.” That’s his response. Just a long, sexy hum as he flicks the tip of his tongue along the shell of my ear.
Tugging my earlobe between his teeth, he nips, biting down. For a second, I tense everywhere as a sharp pain blooms, but then it dissipates into a delicious, dizzying sensation.
He breaks the kiss, pulls back, and sweeps his gaze over me. His eyes are dark, glimmering with satisfaction and the promise of more pleasure. “So . . . want dinner?”
Dinner?
No.
I. Want. Him.
Fuck food.
I want Holden Kingsley with a wild kind of desperation.
I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone.
Maybe I don’t need to be in love.
Maybe I don’t need to be in a serious relationship. Maybe I simply needed to meet the right guy at the right time.
Because I feel ready. So damn ready.
But should I tell him? Should I let him know I’m dying to experience things with him I’ve never felt before? That his kissing has unlocked a fervent wish in me? That, after twenty-two years and counting, I’m considering throwing in the towel tonight, if he’ll have me.
