Page 71 of Look, Don't Touch

He gives a firm nod. “Good education. It was my parents’ only stipulation. The thing that saved my life. Money for my education, boarding school through college, was put into a trust.”

“I know plenty of highly educated people who are dumber than dicks on priests.”

His hands bracket my face. He lifts my chin and stares at my lips. “The things that come out of your mouth. I could never imagine them. Every time I think I know what you might say, you surprise me.”

I bite my lower lip. “I’m sorry?” I shrug. “I don’t tend to pussyfoot around things. Sometimes I can be crass. Even callous.”

“You surprise me in the best fucking way because you’re you, no matter what. And no part of you is heartless, no matter how much you might want it to be true.”

His face lowers to mine, and my heart catapults through my body.

The first touch of his lips against mine is a graze. It’s experimental and hot. It leaves me panting and desperate for something I’ve never wanted. I hold still and keep my eyes shut, willing him back. He returns with a sweet peck on my lower lip, the one I’d been biting. He matches it to the upper, then drags his lips against my mouth.

It’s the sweetest, simplest, most perfect experience.

Again and again, he teases my lips, mapping every crest and edge, dip and swell with his own.

I’ve never been high, but I bet this is what it feels like. My brain is muddled. Only my sensory receptors are functioning. The world stills around us. I’m drowning in euphoria. His hands and lips are my anchor. With him, I’m tethered to the earth, while I soar among the stars.

He steps closer, and his heat seeps through my front. His tongue glides over my lips and then slips between them. My tongue flits out to brush against his for the barest of erotic seconds before retreating, scared I’ll frighten him again.

“Mmm.” His sexy sound vibrates my lips. It bolsters me like praise.

My tongue chases his for a second. Then his attacks, coiling around mine and sucking it into submission. I’m suddenly aware that I’m sans panties and that just a while ago, his tongue was between my legs.

The sound that pours out of my mouth into his is feral.

One of his hands leaves my face, and I think I’ve gone too far until he takes my hand and guides it to his chest.

Oh my God.

Better yet, oh God, Arlo.

He’s hot and solid under my touch. His heartbeat slams against my fingers, and it’s a wonder either of us is still upright because our hearts are literally racing to out-drum one another’s.

A noise blares between us. We jump apart as though caught with our hands in the cookie jar. Our chests are heaving. His lips are red and swollen. I’m sure my skin is red all over, matching my hair.

“Shit.” His laugh is hoarse, and his eyes sparkle. “Sorry. I forgot it was on ring.” He pulls a phone from his pocket and assesses the screen. “Sorry again. I need to?—”

“No problem. Go ahead.” I press my fingertips to my lips as he presses the phone to his ear and studies me.

I swear my cheeks hurt from smiling, and I feel like a teenager, or what a teenager, a normal one, should have felt. I’m giggly, and my belly skips.

“Hey, Karris.” He’s quiet for a minute as his best friend speaks. “Yes, I blew off the Parks and Myers meeting. Yes, I have a better excuse than watching guys drag trees through my house, not that it’s any of your business.” His lips pull into a smile. “No, I don’t remember appointing you boss of me.”

I’m not just eavesdropping, but blatantly and attentively listening. I slide away and lower myself to the sofa with wobbly knees.

“I’m sure they can lock and close the door behind them.”

My buzzer screams, releasing me from my failed attempt at not prying. I rush to it and hit the intercom. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Judge from Nobu, Apartment 804,” a young man with a thick Boston accent hollers.

“Thank you.” I buzz him up and wait by the door. I’m glad no one can see me because my feet and hands refuse to be still. My gaze swings left and right, looking for Plinko, but Mr. Cutie is nowhere to be seen. I run to my purse for a tip, hurry back to the door, and open it to wait.

“No,” Arlo says definitively. There’s a pause. Then he adds, “I’m not being anti-social. I’m on a date.”

My smile is big and stupid, and my face almost refuses to contain it.

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