Page 52 of For Fox Sake

She laughs.

“I’m not perfect.” I swallow. “I’ve made plenty of mistakes, in the past and more recently.” Things I still need to inform her of. My stomach twists with nerves. This is going to suck.

“Everyone makes mistakes. It’s part of the human condition. We are all learning and growing and figuring this whole life thing out.”

I really hope she’s this understanding and forgiving later.

She leans in, resting her head on my shoulder.

I want to freeze this moment in time, take it out when this is all over, so I can reexperience Ryan in my arms, the curve of her waist against the sensitive pads of my fingers, the scent of her skin, the way she relaxes against me, warm and trusting.

I’m a fool. An idiot. I deserve all the guilt thundering through me.

The song ends and her head lifts.

My hands flex around her waist. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Yes.”

The drive back is quiet.

As we draw nearer to her house, my anxiety intensifies, reaching a crescendo by the time I park. My palms are clammy. I grip the steering wheel tightly, the weight of anticipation heavy in my gut.

Moment of truth.

I kill the engine and shift to face her. Her gaze is directed down, unclipping her seat belt.

“Ryan, I have to tell you, I?—”

She scoots across the bench seat, reaches up and grabs my face with both hands, and presses her mouth to mine.

I freeze. I can’t move. I can’t let her do this.

Her mouth moves against mine. Her lips are soft, warm, probing.

Holy hell.

Heat blasts through me and then I’m kissing her back. More than mere kissing. Devouring.

Her hands move down my face to my shoulders.

I cup the side of her face, tilting her jaw for better access. She tastes like honey and lemon and heaven. Her tongue slides against mine and every blood cell in my body rushes south.

Brain has left the chat.

I need more, more of her flesh under my mouth. My lips graze down her neck, moving down to her collarbone and biting gently. She groans and the sound shoots straight to my cock. The most erotic noise ever made.

She gasps. “I want to feel more of you.”

Yes.

She tugs my shirt from my pants and then her fingers brush against the sensitive skin of my stomach. Now I’m the one gasping.

“Not enough,” she murmurs.

Not nearly enough.

She leans back and whips her shirt over her head.

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