Page 64 of The Dating Pact

“Hey. You all right?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You seem it,” he said, finely threaded amusement lacing his words.

I felt him move closer to me, the heat of him against my side, and I tried to be adult about that too. About how his familiarity meant nothing. We were friends and helped each other work through some intense and intimate things and…

And that was it.

I bent, closing the dishwasher door with more force than necessary. Smashing my thumb in the process.

“Oh shit,” I hissed, backing up, right into Jude’s chest. I waved my right hand in the air. “Fuck.”

“What?” He spun me around. “What happened?”

I curled my fingers around my thumb, shoving it between my legs, as if hiding it would take away the pain. “Jammed my thumb in the door.”

He tugged on my arm, urging me to release my tightly gripped fist. “Let me see.” He uncurled my fingers, his breath hot on my hand as he held it close to his face, examining it, gently flipping it over. “It’s not bleeding, but you pinched it good. You’ve already got some bruising under your fingernail.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling my heartbeat in it. “It’s throbbing.”

“You want some ice?”

“No, it’s okay. I?—”

Then his mouth was on my thumb, kissing it, his lips pressing into the skin on the inside, below my knuckle, once, twice, three times. I opened my lids to find him staring at me, his dark eyes hooded, nostrils flared.

“Better?” he murmured against my knuckle.

I nodded silently, the fire in his gaze burning away my ability to speak.

“How about this?” He dragged his tongue over my knuckle, and I felt the echo of it between my legs, my mind instantly back to the day he’d pushed me to the ground and licked me until I screamed out to the sky. And I didn’t feel the painful throb in the tip of my thumb anymore, not when he drew it into his mouth, gentle suction eliciting a groan from the back of my throat.

He responded in kind, closing the few inches of space between us, backing me up against the counter, his thigh between mine. He sucked again, and my nipples hardened under my bra, hips rolling to find some kind of relief for the growing pressure in my core.

I whispered his name, and he released my thumb, only to take my mouth, his fingers roughly combing into my hair, stealing my breath right from my lungs. I curled my fingers into his shirt, holding on to him for dear life, mindlessly grinding against his thigh, unable to get what I needed.

“You showed up tonight in these little shorts and smelling sweet, like lavender and honey.” His pebbled voice caressed my skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. “It was hard for me to leave.” His words curled in my belly, soothing the wretched, jealous parts of me.

“It was hard for me too,” I admitted as he molded his palms to my face, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks.

“I’m sorry.”

I held on to his forearms, leaning into him. “You don’t need to apologize.”

His eyes wrinkled in the corners, tension bracketing his features, but I cut off his argument with another kiss. This time, I led, sweeping my tongue into his mouth, licking against his, and it occurred to me, as he trapped my bottom lip between his, pulling slightly, that this was the first time we weren’t high or playing a game.

This kiss was real.

Sober and sincere, shucked of all pretenses.

He nudged his thigh farther between mine, skimming his hands down to my waist, and I arched my back, my breasts against his chest, my skin tingling.

I panted, mouth open against his, catching my breath. “I need…”

“What? What do you need?”

“I—”

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