Page 45 of Those Two Words

“That I never stopped…” He trails off, but before I can ask What, his lips are on me.

I cling to his sweatshirt, trying to keep my balance as his lips mold over mine, the ferociousness of his kiss feeds the roaring need in me. My knuckles must be white from how hard I’m clutching his sweatshirt, and it only tightens when his tongue run against the seam of my lips. I open willingly, and his tongue spears into my mouth. The taste of him sends me wild, because god, have I missed this. One night wasn’t enough to soak up everything that he is.

This kiss is eager, hungry, and unforgiving.

What he gives, I give right back.

Our hands don’t know what to do, roaming all over one another. His tangle in my hair one second and grip my face the next. Mine lock behind his neck and then fall to his pounding chest. We’re everywhere at once. He walks us backward until I hit the edge of the desk, my grip on him never loosening. His hands glide down my sides, then he grabs the backs of my thighs and hoists me up on the desk. The jigsaw puzzle and my brain in disarray.

Our tongues continue their dance as his fingers slip underneath the T-shirt, but pause above the tops of the sweats. He lazily runs the backs of his fingers along the exposed skin of my belly, such a contradiction to the punishing pace of his kiss.

Teeth. Lips. Tongues. We give it everything, because this kiss isn’t hello.

It’s a homecoming.

He grinds the hardness growing in his pants against the inside of my thigh, but I need more. Crave more. I widen my legs until my hips cradle his, and I can feel all of him. Long, hard, and thick.

I’m so lost in the moment, I’m not sure what causes it, but suddenly Patrick rips himself away and stumbles back. Our chests are heaving, and his lips are swollen and glistening from our kiss. The few feet between us and the guilty, torn look on his face create a chasm in my heart.

He’s the first one to speak, and boy, do I hate his words.

“I can’t do this with you again, Jo.”

twenty

PATRICK

I loathe the words the second they leave my mouth, and from the crushed look on Jo’s face, so does she.

Half of me wants to snatch the words still hanging heavy in the air between us, shove them back down my throat, and kiss her senseless again. The other half, the half I wish wasn’t making the most sense, tells me this isn’t a good idea.

That I never stopped…

So close to finishing that sentence and contradicting what I confessed outside the bar the other night.

There’s no point in trying to come up with some half-assed excuse, like I don’t know what came over me. Of course I do. She came over me. Pulling me and tempting me with everything she is. I’m hardwired to need her.

I should know better. The bruises on my heart should be warning enough.

All the progress we’ve made eviscerated. It’s written all over her face. I saw glimpses of my old friend today, and it felt monumental that she trusted me enough to share something that clearly made her feel uncomfortable and exposed.

This is why you should never let your heart take the lead. It goes in blindly and has you making stupid decisions.

Like kissing the woman you’ve tried to forget.

I take a step toward her. “Jo.”

That snaps her out of whatever daze she was in. Her eyes lock with mine, but as I take another tentative step forward, she skirts around me and darts out of the room.

I’m hot on her heels, calling her name, and when I catch up with her a few feet from the front door, I step in her path, blocking her exit. She seems so intent on escaping me that she’s about to run out of my house with no shoes on.

“Johanna, stop. Please.”

“We have stopped. And now I’m going to go,” she says flatly, crossing her arms over her chest. The hurt in her eyes is gone and I only see determination. I’ll take that over sadness any day, but it still doesn’t make me feel better.

“How are you going to get home?”

“I’ll call a cab. It’s really not your concern. Nothing is your concern actually, and I’m sorry I dragged you into my mess. Forget this happened.”

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