Page 107 of Kiss Me Tonight

With my hand balled into a fist, I thump on the door again to the rhythm of Eiffel 65’sBlue. I’m midway through the chorus when the door squeaks open and a set of bulky arms haul me inside.

The door shuts behind me.

My back is shoved against it.

Surprised, I lose grip of my phone as it falls to the floor. In the same moment, aggressive masculine lips find mine in the dark.

Oh, yes.

This isn’t what I came over for but it’s certainly what my body needs.

I thread my fingers through Dominic’s dark hair, rising up on my toes so I can meet his kiss fully. His palm finds the base of my spine, and he groans, the sound so seductive that I answer with a needy whimper.

He drags me closer, until his hard-on is like a brand on my stomach and my breasts are squished flat against his chest. Fingers slip into the back of my shorts, ignoring my panties—they’re fun ones today, with the words “Not Today, Satan” printed on them—so he can fill his palms with the curve of my ass.

A single squeeze and my legs tremble where I stand.

I grip his shoulders for leverage. Moan into his mouth when his hand slips farther south to cup me rightthere, where I’m hot and needy, and oh, God, he needs to warn a girl before he goes straight for the grand prize.

“Fuck, Aspen,” he growls against my mouth, “you’re so damn wet.”

Gasping when his finger strokes my clit without preamble, I clutch his biceps and hold on for dear life. “You have that effect on me.”

“Oh, yeah?” His wicked fingers don’t apply any more pressure, keeping the grazing touches light and airy and simplynot enough. “What else do I do to you?” he taunts, his lips finding the column of my throat. Teeth nip my skin, then suck the sting away.

My core clenches. My toes curl. My head . . . “You turn my brain to mush.”

“Sounds messy.” As if wanting to determine if what I say is true, he pushes two thick fingers inside me, curling them just so.

I cry out, my head tipped back. And, sure enough, it’s as though he’s reduced me to nothing but his thrusting fingers and the rapid rate of my pulse and the feel of his massive body caging me against his back door.

It feelswonderful.

Wild.

Reckless.

“Keep talkin’, Coach,” he works out on a heavy breath, the wordcoachsounding more like an endearment than a reminder of who we are and how we found each other. “You stop, I stop.”

“That’s cruel,” I pant, rolling my hips to keep rhythm with his ministrations, “and so unfair.”

“That’s life.” Slowly, he drags the pads of his fingers through my wetness. “It’s cruel. It’s unfair. And that’s what makes it beautiful.”

To my surprise, he drops to his haunches and promptly makes quick work of my shorts and underwear. They’re down around my ankles, and then completely gone, before I can even utter his name. And then he’s tracing the line of my leg with his fingers, up, up, up, until he palms my thigh and pushes my leg off the floor.

The sole of my foot lands on his broad shoulder.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever been more exposed.

I whisper his name, a question in every syllable, but he cuts straight to the chase, as he always does: “You stop talking, I stop too. Those are the rules. Good luck.”

Good luck?

“Sometimes, you’re still the same jerk who told me that he wasn’t trying to pick anyone up at the bar—ohhh,okay.” His tongue slicks from my entrance to my clit, never missing a beat. I can talk. However long he needs, I can . . . My lids fall shut against the dim lighting filtering in from another part of the house. “I lied. I so lied. You were wonderful that night. A true gentleman.”

His hands clasp my hips, nailing my ass to the door so I can’t escape his tongue.

The man is out of his mind if he thinks I’m going anywhere.

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