Page 237 of Coach
I could taste him, the wine still lingering on his tongue.
God, I wanted to—
He pressed his lips into mine, and my mind went blank.
Card Sharksfaded away. The den vanished. The house evaporated.
There was only Mateo and the softest lips on the planet—and they were kissing me.
Blood rushed to every part of my body: my head, my fingertips, my cheeks—and holy cow, my cock. When was the last time that thing had stirred over someone live and in person? Screen time with Peachyboy or some other “star” didn’t count. I couldn’t remember—hell, I couldn’t think.
His tongue grazed my lips as he pulled back, our eyes coming together in a cosmic collision.
“I hope that was okay,” he breathed. I sucked in, willing his words inside me. “I’ve been wanting to do that, well, since the fair.”
I blinked.
Then blinked again.
“Really?”
His head ducked, and I swear, color bloomed in his cheeks as he smiled. “Really.”
“You wanted to kiss me? Seriously? Me?”
His brow furrowed. “Shane, do you have any idea how hot you are? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I popped a boner while you went on about wood grain and proper staining techniques.”
I gulped back something. Holy shit. He’d been into me all along. Me. How had I not seen any of it? How had I been so—
Mateo, seeming annoyed by my constant retreats, advanced.
His lips found mine, and his tongue decided it was also tired of playing things safely. I’d barely drawn a breath before our lips were locked, and his tongue was exploring the underside of my own, teasing and flicking and licking, gentle and powerful all at once, like his accent.
My chuckle ejected his tongue and fended off his lips.
“I kiss you, and you laugh?”
I grinned—and damn if it didn’t feel good. “Sorry, my brain just compared your kiss to your accent, and, well, it was kind of funny.”
He cocked one brow. “Oh, really now? You think my accent is like a kiss?”
I shrugged and blinked innocently.
“What would you do if I switched into Italian for real?”
“I . . . I might cream my jeans right here.”
Mateo spat a laugh, then stared with such intensity I had to look away. His fingers guided my chin until I once again met his gaze.
“Voglio fare cose sconce con te.”
I growled. Damn, he was hot. “What does that mean?”
He leaned forward, tilting my head so he could whisper in my ear. “It means, ‘I want to do naughty things to you,’ Mr. Shane.”
A shiver raced through me so hard that my body shook.
Mateo, taking in the impact of his words, sat back and beamed.
