Page 45 of Little Monster
I can be brave.
Rising onto my toes, I bring my lips close to his. We’re a breath away from each other, so close I can see the different shades of gray and blue in his irises. But I don’t kiss him, and he doesn’t kiss me.
It feels like a gravitational pull is dragging me toward him, and I resist it, fight the urge to succumb to my desire for him. He brushes his nose against mine, then trails it across my cheek and down my neck. The subtle touch makes my hair stand on end, sends an electric current racing over my skin.
And all my body wants—craves—is his touch, his hands, his mouth. I close my eyes and tip my head to the side, exposing my neck. Dex draws his fingers across my bare skin, pushes my hair back so he can press his lips against my flesh. And when he does, a sigh slips through my lips. That’s all it takes for me to become lost in him.
Now I’m drifting on the tumultuous sea that is Dex Reid, softening into him as his hands cup my waist. Then he lifts me onto the counter and pushes my knees apart so he can settle his hips between my legs.
“Nora Miller,” he whispers, hands trailing up and down my thighs as his gaze seems to search my face. “What’s your middle name, Little Monster?”
His nickname makes my lips curl involuntarily into a smile, and there’s no way he doesn’t see it.
“Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth,” Dex whispers. “Nora Elizabeth Miller.” He reaches up and pushes his hand through my hair. I lean into his touch, my eyes closing.
I shouldn’t want this, I try to tell myself, but there’s no conviction in the thought. I’ve tried to fight this, but now my resolve slips like sand through Dex’s fingers as his hand trails through my hair.
I open my eyes and find his blue gaze inches from mine. “What’s yours?”
“My middle name?”
I nod.
He smiles, big and bright, and his lip ring winks in the morning sunlight. “I can’t remember the last time someone asked me that.” He chuckles, more to himself than anything. “It’s Owen.”
“Dexter Owen Reid,” I say, my voice lilting playfully.
His lips pucker into a smirk. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he says. “My grandmother is the only one who calls me Dexter.”
“Off-limits, then?” I tilt my head to one side, and the smile slips slowly from Dex’s lips. He seems to consider it for a moment, his fingers tracing little circles on my thigh.
“No, not off-limits. Not for you.”
My chest squeezes. My words seize up in my throat.
How is this happening?
I lift a hand slowly, tentatively, my fingertips inching toward Dex’s face. When I hesitate a moment longer, he shifts, turning his cheek into my touch. The contact sends butterflies swarming through my belly. I cup his face, trail my thumb across his lips. His lip ring is smooth and hard, the metal warm from his body heat.
“I’ve never kissed anyone with a lip ring before,” I say. The words slip out before I consider how stupid they sound.
But Dex smiles. “You’ve kissed me.”
My cheeks grow warm. “Well, besides you.”
He leans in. The seconds become minutes. Then his lips are on mine, and time no longer exists. There’s just his mouth on my mouth, my fingers in his hair. Dex squeezes my thighs, and I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles and drawing him in until I feel the pressure of his hips between my legs.
When I’m kissing him, I lose a part of myself—the part that feels insecure, awkward, unsure. His kiss makes me feel powerful, and my body reacts to him instinctually. Unlike every other moment in my life, I don’t have to think about what to do; I justdo it.
Too soon, Dex pulls away, leaving me breathless and hungry for more.
“And?” he says, breath tickling my neck as he nuzzles his nose into the soft spot just beneath my ear.
I can’t even remember what we were talking about. “And what?”
“And what do you think? About kissing me.”
