Page 86 of Kiss Me Tonight

“Fifty Shades of Grey?”At the ensuing silence, I try again. “E.L. James? Famous romance author?” Still nothing. Figures—men.“She writes erotica. BDSM-type stuff.”

“Whips and cages and chains, oh my.”

The words emerge so droll that I can’t help but shake my head. Already I’m itching to rip off the blindfold and breathe through the low pulse of anxiety clinging to my skin. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Bondage?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. Clearly you have an affinity for blindfolds.”

Husky laughter echoes in the cab of the truck. “Let’s not get it twisted here, Coach—you’re wearing an old T-shirt wrapped around your head. And nah, I’m not interested in any of that.”

“You’re not going to tell me why?” If nothing else, the blindfold has given me the gift of no filter. It’s absolutely liberating, even if my nerves haven’t quit me yet. I press my knees together, my hands clasped in my lap as I listen to the gentle whir of the wind speed past the car. “I feel like most guys wouldn’t mind tying a woman up.”

“I don’t need ropes, Aspen.”

Pleasure, as sharp and insistent as the moment he kissed me, gathers between my legs—and all because he used my name. Myfirstname. It sounds like heaven dipped in orgasms coming out of his mouth. Sweeter, even, like an endearment. Baby. Sugarplum.Aspen.

I almost beg him to say it again.

I don’t, but only because he continues talking in that rough, deep timbre that could convince even a nun to ditch her habit, it’s so sensually wicked.

“If I want to pin you down, I’ll do it with my hands locked around your wrists. If I want to see your ass turn pink, I’ll skip the paddle and use my palm.” A heavy, masculine hand curves possessively over the back of my skull and I feel him tighten the knot of the blindfold. “And if I’m dyin’ to see your eyes squeeze shut because you don’t know if you can take anymore, I’ll cut out all the toys and put you on your knees instead, slipping my cock between those berry lips of yours.”

Oh.

My.

God.

Without my sight, my hearing is so much more acute. There’s nothing but the sound of tires rolling over a smooth road and my uneven breathing for company. I squirm in the passenger’s seat, my thighs rubbing together. Two of my fingers arch toward my throat to skate over my skin.

“What’re you doing?”

“Checking my pulse.”There, at the base of my neck. Between my legs, my clit throbs to the same fluttering beat. He’s turning me inside out. Stringing me along like a cat in heat.Deep breaths. “You can’t just say things like that—”

“Does it scare you?”

I sink down on my seat. “Youscare me.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve known each other for all of two weeks and already I’ve let you lead me out into the ocean, blindfold me, and then put thoseimagesin my head. What will I let you do to me next? Where do I draw the line? I feel like . . . I feel like . . .”

“You’re alive.”

My unadorned fingers flex in my lap. “Yes.”

He drums a catchy beat on the steering wheel. “You know how I feel every time I do something insane?” I can almost envision him throwing up bunny quotes around the word “insane.” The way he says it, the way I’ve heard him toss the word around about himself in the past, tells me it belongs to a much bigger story. Something he’s not ready to reveal yet. “I feel like you do right now, Aspen.”

Feeling bold, and curious to know if I can hear joy displace his always-present cynicism, I tease, “You feel like your panties are wet?”

And Ido.

I hear the back of his head collide with the seat and the deep rumble of his laughter, and callmeinsane, but I swear I can hear a wicked smile curve his lips. Breathtaking. That’s how he sounds—breathtakingly handsome.

I imagine his teeth grazing his bottom lip when he murmurs, “How do you always manage to surprise me?”

“Maybe because I’m demolishing every stereotype you had of me.” Holding up a hand that I can’t see beyond the black fabric, I tick off each finger as I speak. “Young woman married to a much older man. Accidental pregnancy. Female football coach. Divorced and not bitter—okay, sometimes a little bitter.” I pause, four fingers curled into my palm with my thumb still standing tall. “Any others I should add?”

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