Page 52 of Winning Brynn

"You nearly did."

"But I didn't."

"But—"

"No," he cuts me off, pressing a thick finger to my lips. "I didn't, and that's the end of that."

And just like that, whatever I was about to say dies a quick death on my lips, trapped inside by the softness of his touch. The urge to argue dissolves into thin air. I can't even remember what we were arguing about anyway.

All I know is the sensation of his skin against my mouth. Warm but not clammy. Callused but soft. Gentle yet strong at the same time.

I go to lean back, but his touch follows me.

My lips part in surprise, which only works to make the moment infinitely more confusing.

Because now I'm breathing against him, my lips pressed against the pad of his finger in the shape of a French kiss. I can almost taste him. My mouth waters with the need to dart my tongue out and suck the digit into my mouth like a promise of things to follow.

Leo's expression morphs into a slow smirk that is infuriatingly sexy and nowhere near as annoying as it should be. His eyes glint with both amusement and something else entirely. Something more dangerous and frightening than any argument or conflict we've had up until this point.

Something a lot like desire.

And what's worse is that I know my eyes are reflecting the very same thing.

His gaze falls to the point where his finger meets my lips and darkens. Butterflies erupt in my stomach as my breathing grows shorter against his finger. He tugs his own lip between his teeth, his breaths falling as shallow as mine.

And because I'm me, I break the moment and state the obvious. "Are you going to kiss me?" I whisper against his touch.

He grins. And it's this wicked thing, all cocky and dripping with sex. "I'm thinking about it."

"Why would you do that?"

Way to go, Brynn.

Men love nothing more than being interrogated about their intentions when they're thinking about kissing you.

But inexplicably, it doesn't seem to deter him.

Maybe because the tremble in my voice as I spoke betrayed the truth that I actuallyreallywant him to kiss me right now. Or maybe it's because he isn't lying when he speaks his next sentence...

"Because I want to."

"Oh."

Then his finger is falling away. And for half a second, my stomach sinks in disappointment. But then it's slipping under my chin, with his thumb stroking up to replace it. Gently, he tugs at my bottom lip, and the urge to taste his skin grows too strong to repress.

When my tongue sneaks out to flick lightly against the tip of his finger, his eyes turn midnight black. I swear I even hear him growl, a deep rumbling sound that erupts like thunder in his chest.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Brynn Wolfe."

His gaze falls back to my lips once more as our faces drift closer and closer together. I don't know if it's because he's pulling me toward him, or if I'm moving of my own accord.

All I know is that he's got me in some kind of trance. It's like he has dickmatized me with his stupid, smug smiles and dark stares and cute nicknames, and I have no choice but to fall into whatever the fuck this is that's happening right now.

It could be a trap.

He could just be pretending to kiss me for some kind of cruel and elaborate joke.

But the thought doesn't stop me from leaning into him, from inching my hand up to curl lightly around his arm like I'm trying to hold him in place.

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