Page 8 of A Major Puck Up

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” I cock a brow at her. “So what if I am? Does that make me boring?”

She shrugs, the picture of innocence. “You said it, not me. You go to the same bar most nights. Drink the same drinks. I bet the only thing that changes is the woman you sleep with from one night to the next.”

Another cough of a laugh escapes me. “Women don’t sleep in my bed.”

She smiles like she’s proud of herself. Like I just proved her point.

I close my eyes in defeat. “That came out wrong.”

“But did it? Think about it, Gavin. When was the last time you took a risk? Really did something you weren’t supposed to?”

The taunting in her tone doesn’t seem intentional. I may be conjuring it myself because I agree with her. When was the last time I took a real risk?

Fuck it. I like this girl, and I want to kiss her. So with a hand on the edge of her barstool, I pull her close.

She inhales sharply as she watches me, and then she licks her bottom lip. Another taunt. Another dare.

I wrap my hand around her neck and press closer.

Her eyes are wide and full of heat. “What are you doing?”

Instead of responding with words, I press my lips to hers in answer.

I’m kissing her. That’s what I’m doing. Kissing a woman I really want to kiss. Not because she’s gorgeous or because I want to get laid tonight. Those are truths, yes, but I kiss her because I like that she sees through the show I normally put on and calls it like it is. Because she’s the first person in months to make me want to take a risk. To make me want to make the effort.

Her soft whimper as I slide my tongue against hers has my heart beating wildly in my chest. In response, I suck on her tongue, which only makes her moan louder.

“Now tell me your name,” I murmur against her mouth. I don’t give her a chance to respond, though, before kissing her again.

Fuck, I can’t stop. Her lips are pillowy soft, and she tastes like a fucking dream. Don’t even get me started on her fucking sounds. Her soft, warm skin beneath my fingertips is the most comforting thing I’ve felt in months. Maybe years. And it’s right up there with the way she allows me to hold her close. Every single second with my lips against hers is perfect, and I don’t want it to end.

She pulls back and takes a heady breath, her eyes locked on mine. “No.”

I’m not even surprised. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to call you Peaches.”

She quirks a brow. “Why’s that?”

“Because of how you taste.” I lean in and kiss her again, groaning at the flavor of her on my tongue. Peach and tequila and her.

“Thought you hated the drink,” she teases.

“And yet it’s my favorite thing when it’s mixed with you.” Unlike the drink, she’s made for me.

She eases back and, lashes lowered, gives me just a hint of a coy smile.

“Makes me wonder what you taste like in other places.”

That smile turns challenging. “And you think you’ll have the opportunity to find out?”

“Oh, I know I will. The question is, will I lay you out on my bed to do it? Or maybe my kitchen counter, or the bathtub? Or maybe, since you seem a bit sinful, you’d prefer out on the terrace?”

The way her eyes flare at my last suggestion tells me precisely where she wants it.

“Oh, you’re a greedy little thing.”

“I haven’t even agreed to another kiss,” she whispers, even as the smile on her lips and the desire in her eyes make it obvious she’s begging for another one.

I’d like to see her beg. That thought has need ripping through me.

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