Page 131 of The Rule Breaker
“Never!”
His fingers dig into my sides, and I squirm, caught between gasping and giggling.
“Okay—okay! You’re a genius!”
He grins as he lowers me back down, hands still warm on my waist. “That’s what I thought.”
I swat at his chest, but I’m grinning too hard to mean it. Clay is smeared across his arm, there’s a smudge on his jaw, and I’m sure I look just as messy, but I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun doing something so stupid.
The kind of fun that makes your cheeks hurt from smiling and your stomach do flips.
Ryan keeps his eyes on mine, the laughter dying between us. The air shifts. Or maybe I imagine it. Either way, I feel it.
Something flutters in my chest, and I know without a doubt…
I could really,reallyfall for him.
I think I already am.
We’re quiet for a second, before he leans in and kisses me. His lips are warm. His clay-slicked fingers brush my jaw like I’m something delicate, and I swear the ground wobbles under my feet.
When we finally break apart, I’m breathless and one hundred percent blushing like an idiot.
“What was that for?” I whisper.
Ryan doesn’t answer. Just gives me that crooked smile that messes with all my internal systems and nods toward the pottery wheel.
“Come on, Picasso. Show me how it’s done.”
I arch a brow. “You want to try again? After that mess?”
Ryan moves behind me and plops down on the stool. “Yup. I’m a fast learner. Teach me.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m already moving to sit between his legs, my back pressed to his chest. His hands find mine, guiding my fingers to the spinning clay.
We start shaping the clay, but it’s impossible to focus with him this close, and his breath ghosting against my neck.
“You know,” he murmurs, “this is kind of hot.”
I snort. “We’re elbow-deep in wet clay.”
He hums. “Still hot.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t keep the smile off my face.
We start slow, our palms slick with clay as we guide the shape together.
“We’re basically recreating Ghost.”
I laugh under my breath, tilting my head toward him just slightly. “You wish you were Patrick Swayze.”
He smirks, the curve of his lips grazing the skin beneath my ear. “I dunno, I think I’m doing a pretty good job.”
His eyes flick to my lips. Mine do the same. And before I can process it, his mouth is on mine.
His hands slide from mine to my waist, and just like that, the rest of the world disappears.
The clay spins, forgotten on the wheel. The mess, the studio, every reason why we shouldn’t be together—it all fades.
