Page 63 of Kiss Me Tonight

And then I capture her cheek with my palm, holding her in place, and slant my mouth over hers.

17

Aspen

The kiss is as rugged, as savage, as the man himself.

Blunt fingers curl toward the back of my skull while his thumbs crest my cheekbones, palms kissing the hollows of my cheeks. Dominic is big all over. I knew it when I met him but standing here now with my back pressed against a row of high school lockers and his muscular thigh wedged between my legs . . . it’s overwhelming.

He’soverwhelming.

And still I submit—to the sensations of his tongue driving into my mouth, reckless and aggressively intimate, and to the heat building within me.

When was the last time I felt like this? So needy, so damn desperate?

Years.

It’s been years, if ever.

Long before I found Rick sleeping with another woman.

Long before he stopped climbing into bed beside me at night.

Long before the comfort he offered felt shallow and—

A gasp breaks free from my throat.

Dominic swallows it with a husky laugh, his mouth parting and his teeth nipping down on my bottom lip. He pulls away long enough to growl, “Wherever you went in that pretty head of yours, remember that you’re with me right now. Only me,” and then the kiss is back on and I feel like I’m floating.

Scratch that.

Iamfloating.

Hands spreading under my butt like a human-based safety net, Dominic hauls me up and into his arms. My back slams against the lockers again, and oh, God, but the jangle of metal clanging against metal brings me right back to high school.

Only, when I roamed these halls twenty-plus years ago, it wasn’t in the arms of a mountain-sized Adonis.

Football practice, V-card status, homework—that was my M.O., back when I was seventeen and dreaming of playing in the big leagues. Can’t say I’m dying to turn back the clock, especially when I feel a very stiff part of Dominic drag against the very soft part of me.

Oh, God, that feels so good.

I snatch the sunglasses off the top of his head, hooking them over the collar of my shirt. Snag his beloved baseball hat, too, and settle that bad boy on my head. Backward. Like I’m some sort of badass instead of a thirty-seven-year old single mom with stretch marks on my belly that donotgo away no matter how much lotion I slather on them.

“Kiss me again,” I beg, before clutching his shirt and using my grip to drag him forward. Our lips meet. Teeth clash. Tongues collide. And it feels glorious and messy, and is that him making that delicious growling noise in his throat?

It is.

I feel blessed to hear it.

With one hand still locked under my ass, he brings the other up to cup the back of my head. Pressure cranes my neck back, and it takes a moment for realization to kick in that he’s tugging on the brim of the hat to put me where he wants me.

Vulnerable.

Neck exposed.

Prickly stubble grazes my cheek before his lips find the delicate line of my throat. A kiss. Hot breath dampens my skin, shooting shivers down my spine. Another kiss. This one lower, directly over my fluttering pulse. Again, another. Over the sweet, sensitive place where my neck and shoulder meet. A tongue flits out, tracing my flesh just before he nips the same spot, and I’m a goner.

Game over.

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