Page 13 of The Overtime Kiss

And I wait. This time, though, he doesn’t make me suffer. He closes the distance between us, lifts a big hand, and cups my cheek.

I gasp.

Dear god, the feel of his hand on me. It’s unreal. Warm and strong, everything I want. I lean into his touch, lit up from the electricity sparking between us.

He slides a thumb along my cheekbone, up and down, like he’s memorizing me. Then, one more small step, and he dips his head closer.

I sway.

I’m falling closer to him when his lips dust across my forehead.

The gasp that escapes me is both carnal and innocent, like his kiss.

Then, he lets go, scoops me up, and lays me down on the bed.

Carefully, he removes each slide, even though I could kick them off. He drops one more kiss to my forehead and says, “I’ll be right back.”

His footsteps grow quieter, the door clicks shut, and I squirm, relishing in all these delicious sensations zipping through my body.

I should take off this dress.

I should get ready for his return.

He’s probably getting a condom.

He’ll come back, fuck me senseless, and serve me breakfast in the morning.

I stretch like a cat as I picture the rest of the night.

Until the day floats before my eyes—a song, a fast ride in a car, a forbidden snack, a caring man.

And a very soft pillow for my tired mind.

4

GIVE OR TAKE THE BLOWTORCH

Sabrina

The funny thing about a dull throb is it still hurts like a motherfucker. Sunlight spills through the curtains—too bright, too soon, and like a hammer to my head. My dress is twisted around my waist, the delicate fabric going every which way, including down my chest.

Great. I’m flashing the top of my boobs at…I pause, listening. Nothing but silence.

Okay, so I’m flashing my boobs at myself. Wonderful. I grab the bodice and wiggle it back up when I remember—my tiara. I reach for it, but it’s not tangled in my mess of hair or tossed onto a pillow. My French twist is askew too. I peer around, but the tiara’s nowhere in sight.

I sigh, regret slamming over me, hard and sharp. The tiara was the only thing I truly wanted to keep from last night. It’s probably on the floor somewhere, tangled up with my dignity.

My mouth tastes like mistakes as I push myself up, the rustle of this awful tulle dress filling the quiet room.

Too quiet.

Hmm. Where’s Tyler? Did he stay? Did we…oh god, did I…?

The memory hits me like a slap.

The last thing I remember is Tyler kissing my forehead and saying he’d be right back. To get a condom, I thought. Or at least, I’d hoped. I was half-drunk, fully committed, and one hundred ten percent ready for the hot dad to make all my fantasies come true. And then…nothing. I conked out.

I groan, dropping back onto the bed, the tulle of the skirt rustling like a soundtrack to my humiliation.He must’ve come back to find me passed out cold, mouth open, probably snoring, and still dressed like a fairy-tale disaster.

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