Page 81 of End Game

Breathless.

“You’re definitely not my type,” I admit.

The smile fades. “Right. You’ve already mentioned that.”

“If you’re having an insecure moment right now, please let me reassure you that I only say you’re not my type because you’re just—you.” I lift my hand, flicking my fingers at the perfection that is his face. “And I’m me.”

“What do you mean by that?” He sounds even more confused.

“You could have anyone here tonight. Every woman at this party would fall at your feet,” I tell him, savoring the way he’s still cradling me in his arms.

“Except for the one that I want.”

We stare at each other, and I swear I’m not even breathing. Not when his gaze drops to my lips. Not when his head starts to descend ...

And definitely not when his lips touch mine.

A spark ignites between us at first contact, and I feel his exhale all the way down to my soul. It brings me back to life, has me sitting up, swiveling in his lap until his back is against the headboard and I’m straddling him. My hands are in his hair, my fingers twisted in the dark, silky strands, my mouth still attached to his.

We’re kissing. Our mouths connecting. Parting. Reconnecting. With every pass, my lips open more and more, until our tongues brush against each other. Tentatively seeking. Circling. Tangling.

Tingles sweep over my skin when he slips his hands beneath his hoodie I’m still wearing. They slide upward, running over the stretchy fabric of my dress until they’re touching the bare skin of my back, skimming along my spine. Making me shiver.

Making me moan.

The sound startles me. Brad didn’t make me moan, especially not at the end of our relationship. Did we kiss much? If we did, it would always lead to mostly boring sex that never lasted long.

Now that I’m out of one, I realize being in a relationship is hard work. Why would I want another one again?

That’s right. I don’t.

All thoughts of relationships evaporate the longer Nico and I kiss. It’s like we can’t get enough of each other. We’re lost in each other’s taste, the kiss going deeper. Lasting longer. I scoot closer to him, drawn to all that heat and muscle, and when I nudge against what is unmistakably his erection, I freeze, breaking away from his still-seeking lips.

“Maybe we shouldn’t take this any further,” I whisper, my breaths coming as fast as my heartbeat.

“Further like how?” His voice is a deep, rough rumble that has my stomach doing backflips.

“Nothing but kissing.”

He presses his forehead to mine, the sound of his ragged exhale making my insides tremble. “You’re serious.”

I nod, my fingers raking through his hair. God, it’s soft and so thick. The murmur of approval he gives when I do it again has my heart fluttering. “You’re the one who said you just wanted to make out.”

“I’m an idiot.” He kisses my cheek. Soft, sweet little kisses he trails across the side of my face until his mouth is at my ear. “How drunk are you?”

My answer is immediate. “Not too drunk for this.”

“You sure?” He pulls away slightly to stare into my eyes.

I nod. “I want this.”

I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.

His smile is slow. Devastatingly sexy. “Oh yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” I suck in a breath when he presses his face into my neck again, his warm lips tickling against my skin.

“How about I kiss you ...” He shifts up, nibbling on my earlobe. “Everywhere.”

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