Page 8 of Crossed Lines

“What was that for?”

“Kiss me.”

He pauses. “What?”

“I bet kissing you won’t change my life. Not like you think it will.”

I don’t know who I’m trying to convince more; him or myself.

“We don’t have to—”

I cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. By now my eyes have adjusted to the dim light, and I make out the sharp cut of his jaw, the dark intensity in his gaze. My stomach jumps. Being this close to him is making me dizzy.

“I want to do this,” I say. “It’s just a bet, right?”

“Right. Just a bet.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, but my head feels stuffed full of cotton. If we were any closer, our chests would brush. As it is, I can feel the heat radiating from his body. Anticipation thrums through my veins.

It’s so dark, I don’t see him move until plump lips press against mine.

I’m kissing my best friend.

That’s the only thought racing through my head as my lips tremble against Spencer’s. Every muscle in my body seizes up, stiff and unyielding. Despite my nerves, I can tell his lips are warm and soft. But he’s not moving. Strong hands grip my face, pulling us apart.

“What’s wrong?” Am I doing it weird? The last thing I need is for him to decide he won because I was nervous.

“You need to relax. Kissing feels better when you’re not so tense.”

He brushes a thumb over my cheek, and my breath hitches in my throat. It’s a simple touch, but my world feels like it’s collapsing around me. Spencer presses a sensual kiss under my ear and I must be sensitive there because, embarrassingly, I arch into him. His grin is sharp against my neck.

“You can stop smiling now.”

“I’m not smiling.” He sounds amused.

“Liar.”

The hand cupping my face snakes around the back of my head, fingers scraping my nape. Spencer kisses my jaw again, his stubble catching freshly-shaved skin, and my stomach flips. I’m already harder than I’ve ever been in my life, my cock straining against my zipper.

Biting back a moan, I push his shoulder. “I don’t remember this in the bet.”

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. “Just wanted to taste you.”

My brain short-circuits. Who says things like that? Maybe he’s trying to scare me into backing out. I lick my lips. Except I’ve never wanted to complete a bet more in my life. Before I can snipe something back at him, he tugs me closer until his breath ghosts over my lips.

“Relax, Luke,” he says. Then he kisses me.

I never understood kissing when I had a girlfriend in the past. It was too confusing, and I was always worried I was doing it wrong.

But kissing Spencer is different.

As soon as our mouths touch, fireworks explode behind my eyes. I can feel him everywhere, large body curved over mine, arm around my waist and slipping under my shirt to stroke my bare hip.

Spencer kisses like a hurricane. He steals the breath from my lungs until I’m panting and clutching at him, trying to think past the sudden madness.

I trace the bulk of his shoulders, lips parting enough for him to lick into my mouth. He tastes like rich alcohol and birthday cake. Nothing like the cherry lip gloss and bubblegum I’m used to. Better than any of that. Like this is what I’ve been waiting for all week.

His faint smell of cedarwood and smoke envelops me like a blanket, masculine and inescapable. Paired with the feel of his arms around me I feel well and truly trapped. Nowhere to go but into him, and I drown in the pleasure pooling in my stomach until I can’t breathe.

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