Page 39 of I Choose You

Fuck.

Her lips are softer than my six hundred thread count sheets. It’s not until my teeth nip into her bottom lip that she unfreezes and moves in time with my movements. My brain almost shuts off completely, its sole mission massaging Mackenzie’s lips to coax little moans from her mouth. My blood turns hotter, almost flammable, when she graces me with a tiny whimper, something I never thought I would ever be blessed to hear, much less cause.

This…is the best damn thing in the entire fucking world.

Better than those waffle sausage sticks.

Better than moving to Texas for a once in a lifetime promotion.

Mackenzie’s lips are the sweetest, most alluring thing I’ve experienced. And I want more.

Her hand falls from mine when I reach up to cup her face. My fingers tease the back of her neck, threading through wild strands of hair at her nape. My pants grow tighter when she finally allows me to rub my tongue aside hers. Like contortionists, our tongues twist and bend, tasting one another. I don’t miss the fruitiness of the wine on the tip of her tongue that mingles with the bitterness of the beer.

I want to drag her down on the couch, climb on top of her, and kiss her all fucking night. My tongue wants to prod and lick, savoring her until there’s not much left to wonder about. If her tongue tastes this damn good, then the rest of her has to be extraordinary.

When another moan enters my mouth, I rub my thumbs against her cheeks. For a split second, I pull back and allow us to catch a breath, but I plunge right back in. In the blink of an eye, I have turned into a greedy bastard who would give anything to make time stand still.

I’d live in this fucking moment for ages if it were possible.

This tension that claws at us is better than I have ever felt with any other woman. The way her fingers dig into my shirt as if she’s hanging on for dear life makes me hope her blood is as white hot as mine. Right now, mine is lava, and it scalds me the longer we stay connected.

Our foreheads magnetize when I drag my lips from hers a second time. We breathe heavily, no doubt trying to grasp what the hell just happened while catching our breaths. My fingers turn feather light as I release her face and open my eyes to see hers still closed.

Mackenzie’s fingers press against her lips. Her words are too hushed for the others to hear, but I make them out clearly. “Oh, my God.”

Layla gasps behind us. “Holy shit. That was hot.”

18

Mackenzie

The ice cream shack is closed, so I have no other choice but to fall back on the next best thing: rearranging furniture. Just like ice cream comforts me, so does finding a new layout for my bedroom. I mean, I was already stressed, but last night pushed me past my breaking point.

I’m no longer a human being but a bottle of nerves. I woke up in my bed, warmth moving through me like it did when Mason kissed me. I swear my body broke out in hives as soon as I confined myself to my room and thought about Mason’s lips on mine again.

God, his mouth was delightful, slow and gentle, and the scratchiness of the bit of stubble on his chin…

We finished our game of truth or dare relatively quickly after Layla turned the room upside down. It was like something in the air changed, and we all needed to get the heck away from each other to breathe. I darted to my room, stripped my clothes off, and climbed into my bed, pretending as if my best friend’s mouth wasn’t just devouring me.

Because, yes, that is the best way to describe what happened.

Work would have been a welcome distraction for my brain and heart, but unfortunately, I’m not scheduled to work on weekends. And so, I work with what I have, and that’s my bedroom furniture. I am not braving the kitchen until I’m sure I won’t run into him. I need to sort through my thoughts and figure out what I’m going to say when I see him next.

I sigh and wipe away a bead of sweat on my forehead. I give my nightstand a hip check and push it across the small space, thankful that the house is carpeted and rather quiet. I continue this for the next hour, shifting my belongings until I think I’m happy with the new layout.

When my belly rumbles, I fall back onto my bed, pull off the elastic band that held my hair in a bun, and shift back onto my pillow. Waking up early, then moving my bedroom furniture takes more out of me than I expect. Now is the first time I acknowledge the pounding in my head from the alcohol I consumed last night, so I lean over and grab my water bottle from my end table and chug it down. Then, I kick my legs under the covers and figure a few more hours of rest will help calm the angst trying to turn my heart into a wildebeest.

Sometime later, I rollover and check the time. I can’t stay locked in my room for a minute more. It’s almost lunchtime, and I’m starving. I weigh out my options, knowing if I head to the kitchen for lunch, Mason might be waiting for me. He did say he needed to go through his stuff in the basement, so if I walk into the kitchen, he’ll hear my footsteps. It’s trivial of me to take the childish side and hide out, but my head is a mess. My heart as well. I don’t know what our kiss meant last night, but it was too good to mean nothing.

Sure, it was part of a dare, but my body and heart didn’t get the message. If I think about it too much, my stomach gets all jittery. So, I do what I think might help. I text Owen and ask if he wants to get lunch, figuring I can at least run out the door before someone can stop me.

Thankfully, the gods are on my side because he answers on the first ring and tells me he’s picking the place. While I work to get dressed, he sends me the address. I dress for the cold front moving through Quaint, jeans and an oversized sweater under my jacket. After, I rub a fingertip’s worth of blush on each cheek and curl my eyelashes for a swipe of mascara.

I take a deep breath and prepare to exit my room. I’m not sure if Luke or Mason are home. They could have left the house while I was sleeping. Then again, Mason could very well be perched outside my bedroom door, ready to discuss the events of last night. The unknown makes my heart hammer against my ribcage, resulting in it taking a solid five minutes of internal dialogue to twist that shiny, old doorknob and dart for the front door.

I whisper, thank you, God, when I make it outside without bumping into anyone. As much as I enjoyed kissing Mason, I’m aware of the implications it may cause because of the way my brain is wired. If I don’t work through this emotional pond, the four feet of water will drag me down like quicksand and drown me.

Owen is as easy on the eyes as always when I meet him at a family-owned pizzeria in the next town over. His smile alone is worth the extra gas it takes to get here. He pulls me into a tight hug as if we’ve been best friends forever, and I embrace it. I need it so much more than I realize. “How’s your grandmother doing?”

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