Page 12 of The First Time
"I swear on my left hand."
"Which do you need more for the bass?"
"They're both integral."
"Okay. I guess that works then." She looks from the TV—down to fifteen seconds—to me.
I grab the remote to turn the volume up. I can't remember the last time I actually counted down to the New Year. Want to do it right.
The TV booms. "Ten, nine, eight."
Her cheeks flush as she scoots closer. "You don't have to."
"You telling me you don't want to?"
"Seven, six, five." The crowd at Times Square goes crazy.
Piper shakes her head. "I want to." She moves closer.
"Four, three."
I move closer.
"Two, one."
I move close enough to kiss her. My eyes close, my lips connect with hers. She tastes like cinnamon, salt, and sriracha.
She's soft.
She's eager and hesitant at once.
I want to keep kissing her. Want my tongue dancing with hers, want her body under mine, want her groaning as I make her come.
My hand plants on her knee. It's desperate to slide between her legs and stroke her to orgasm.
Thatis out of the question.
I pull back and shift to my side of the couch. Something about the kiss lingers. Not just the taste of her, but this feeling in my chest. I can't remember the last time I kissed someone sober.
It's different.
Good different.
She's bright red.
Fuck, she really is cute enough to eat.
"Happy New Year's," she mumbles.
"Happy New Year's."
She shifts back to teasing. "Are you going to insist on driving me home?"
"No, but I'm going to insist on walking you to your car."
She raises a brow.
"Or you can spend the night in the guest room. Road will be full of drunks for the next hour or two."
"Well then you better entertain me for the next hour or two."
I point back to the TV.
"You can do better."
I can do a lot better, but all my other ideas will get me in trouble.
