Page 64 of Kiss Me Tonight

I jack my hips forward, seeking more of that hard pressure at the apex of my thighs, only to feel a plastic dial dig into my spine.

Lockers, right. High school, right.

Do I care?

Not in this moment. Not when Dominic DaSilva, of all people, is driving me off the cliff of insanity-induced lust.

Rolling my hips once more, I relish the curse that bursts from his mouth: “Fuck, not here. Classroom.”

The lockers shimmy into silence as he spins us around, my legs locked around his lean waist. I kiss the underside of his chin, hearing the telltale click of a door opening. I lick the corner seam of his mouth when his ass hits a desk and he anchors me on top of him, so I’m straddling his lap. I tangle my fingers through his hair, marveling at its thickness, then release a moan when he grips my hips and roughly drags me flush against the length of his hard-on.

Dominic DaSilva istrulyHulk-sized all over.

God bless.

Inhaling sharply, my forehead drops to the hard plane of his shoulder.

There’s the scent of grass and detergent and sweat, and something that’s so uniquely Dominic that I wish I could bottle it up and keep it with me forever. For when this moment is over and locked away in a box of Feel Good Memories Never To Be Repeated Again.

“We’re going to break the desk,” I utter, raggedly.

“Does it look like I give a shit?” His hand frames my face, a wordless demand for me to lift my head and look him in the eye, and oh boy, butno, it does not actually look like he cares. Not about anything besides how our bodies feel moving against one another.

And it feels good,soinexplicably good.

Is this the way true desire is supposed to feel? Reckless and addicting, like at any given moment I’ll shatter into a million little pieces? It didn’t feel this way with Rick, not even once. I was young; he was much older. I listened when he said, “bend over,” and I obeyed, awed that a man like him would ever pay a small-town girl like me any bit of attention, when he ordered, “get down on your knees.”

I didn’t own my sexuality with my ex-husband. I didn’t force him to take my likes and needs into consideration, and I certainly never took control in the bedroom. First because I was too nervous and scared to make any sort of wrong move that he might find offensive, and then, later, because it was simply easier to do as he said, so it could all be done and over with that much sooner.

It was never like this.Iwas never like this.

Assertively, my hips grind down against Dominic to a sensual rhythm that feels both foreign and natural all at once. I feel my core clench when I tear my gaze away from Dominic’s feverish expression to look south.

Obscene.

Everything about this illicit moment is one for the books.

My hands paw at his shirt, lifting the fabric so I can scour his rock-hard abs with my short, unpainted nails. His fingers have tugged down the waistband of my sweatpants—along with my underwear—and each time my hips rise up, riding the length of his erection that’s still tucked away behind his shorts, my sweats lower another inch. Exposing the narrow landing strip of hair. Narrowly exposing even more. Another inch, and he’ll see it all.

“You’re the devil,” I hear myself whimper, all too aware of where we are but unable to stop. “I went to school here.”

Gently, he bites down on my earlobe. “And now you work here.”

“You’re ruining me.”

His cock twitches against my core, like he enjoys our banter just as much as I do. “Nah,” he grinds out, his mouth hovering deliciously over mine, “the way I look at it, you’re the boss. And I’m just following your lead.”

His statement is so absurd, so utterly out-of-left-field, that I laugh even as I moan because if he keeps doingthatI’m gonna come. Right here, right now. And it will be gloriously—

“I’m blue da ba dee da ba die . . .”

Dominic’s hand flexes against my butt. “What the hell is that?”

No.

No, no,no.

I clutch his face between my hands, planting my mouth on his for another heated, halfway-to-orgasm kiss.

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