Page 53 of Chasing After You
We’re dancing.
Grinding, actually, but still technically dancing.
Her cheeks are flushed, and then we’re kissing.
I’m not sure who kisses who, and I don’t care, but I give Mirabelle everything I have in me to give. Her mouth moves hungrily against mine, and my only regret is not doing this sooner.
The music pulses in my ears, but the only thing I’m aware of is her. We’re in a room filled with people, but somehow, we’re in our own little world.
My hand slides to grip her ass, squeezing firmly, and the way Mirabelle moans into my mouth only spurs me to kiss her with more intensity. I can taste the cranberry from her drink on her tongue as we devour each other. My lungs are screaming at me to breathe, but I don’t fucking care. I’d sooner die than stop kissing Mirabelle.
Mirabelle turns her head away, breathing heavily, and I move to press my lips against the soft skin of her neck, inhaling the smoky vanilla scent that is as addictive as kissing her. Her hand twists through my hair, pulling on the short strands as she presses her hips up against the bulge in my pants. My entire body reacts, and I nip at her neck before soothing the spot with a gentle kiss.
For the first time since high school, I’m worried I’m going to make a mess in my pants just from making out with a girl.
“Henry,” Mirabelle moans my name into my ear, and I reluctantly pull away to see if she’s okay. Her lips are swollen, and damn, if it doesn’t make me feel good knowing I made them that way.
“Do you want to stop?” I ask, trying to catch my breath. I’ll do whatever she tells me to do.
Her whiskey eyes are intense as she looks at me. “No. The opposite, actually.”
“Stacey did say we should practice . . .” I trail off, twisting her ponytail between my fingers. “Think we’re convincing anyone yet?”
Mirabelle bites her bottom lip shyly—which is fucking ironic because shy is the last thing I’d ever describe her as—and shakes her head, her ponytail swishing behind her. “No. In fact, I think we need to try harder to convince them,” she says, tilting her head at me.
Challenge fucking accepted.
I kiss her again, making sure to take my time to fully commit this to memory. “You taste like cranberry,” I mumble against Mirabelle’s lips, feeling her smile. I don’t even like cranberry, but if you asked me right now what my favorite thing in the world is, I’d say cranberry.
Sliding my hand up her side, Mirabelle arches into me again, holding onto my bicep firmly.
I’m not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing that it feels as good as the first time, because when this fake relationship is over . . . how are we supposed to go back to normal?
Do I want to?
I shove the thoughts to the back of my head as Mirabelle’s other hand drifts over the front of my pants that are poorly concealing how turned on I am. She freezes, and I turn my head, breaking our kiss to talk in her ear so she can hear me over the music. “Convincing enough?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from shaking. Hell, I want to know what it feels like to have her actually touch me. I want to know what Mirabelle looks like when I’m touching her. I want to know everything that makes her tick. What part of her do I have to touch to make her moan, what part to make her gasp, and how can I worship her to make Mira fall apart because of me?
Mirabelle pulls her hand back and I can see how bright red her face is, even in the dim lighting. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I should have aske—”
“Don’t apologize. You don’t have to ask. You can touch me—feel what you do to me,” I say, biting my tongue to keep from begging Mirabelle to touch me.I’d get on my knees for her, right here, right now.Instead, I stay still, waiting for her to make the next move because I’m not going to ask her to do anything she doesn’t want to.
She says stop, and we stop. There’s nothing more to it.
Mirabelle palms me through the material, and I couldn’t stop the moan from the back of my throat if I wanted to. Her lips curve into a wicked smile, and she leans up to kiss me again. “Pretty convincing.”
I cup her face gently, kissing her like the precious gem she is.
“Henry,” Mirabelle says my name softly, and I press another to the corner of her sweet mouth. She says my name again, but I can’t hear it because the music has somehow been turned up another level. However, I do know what my name looks like coming from her lips.
“Your phone,” she says louder, and I realize my phone is vibrating. I don’t know how I didn’t feel it before, but I hate that she takes a half step back.
I reluctantly reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone to see my mother’s name flashing on the screen.I fucking hate caller ID.I hesitate, knowing that Mirabelle can see the screen from the angle I’m holding it. The smile on Mirabelle’s face has disappeared, and now she won’t meet my eyes. “I think you should take that.” And in a blink, she’s faded into the crowd before I can stop her.
The phone stops ringing before I can decline it. Why does she keep calling?
I shove my phone back in my pocket, making my way toward the VIP section where I’m hoping Mirabelle went. Shit, I never asked her what was wrong. Instead, I made out with her and told her she could touch me. I’m an ass.
I drag a hand through my hair, taking a seat at the table Quinn is at, surprisingly by himself. I thought he would have been long gone by now.
