Page 45 of Merry Me
“There’s clearly…something. Lingering tension. Leftover feelings. Ghosts of orgasms past.Whatever. But it’s obvious that this—us—it could never work again.”
He scoffed, and I immediately pressed a finger to his lips.
“Don’t.” I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t say anything romantic or sweet or funny. We are beinglogical.”
His lips twitched under my finger, and he kissed it.Kissed it.
Like he was trying to destroy me with that mouth alone.
I snatched my hand away like he’d burned me. “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
“And yet,” he murmured, inching even closer, “you’re still here.”
I realized, suddenly, that his hand had found its way to my waist. His fingers had slipped beneath the hem of my dress, where they now brushed slow, hypnotic circles against my skin. My stomach fluttered like it had swallowed an entire flock of nervous pigeons.
“I don’t know, Nat,” he said, voice low and frayed like something unraveling. His hand tightened on my waist, fingersdigging in just enough to make my pulse stutter. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to play at pretending this is casual.”
I froze.
He leaned in, his breath brushing the shell of my ear, his body a whisper away from mine.
“When I’ve already gone years starving for…”
My mouth went dry. “Starving for what?”
He leaned in more, his chest brushing against mine, the contact so light it felt like a promise. His eyes, those devastating green eyes, pinned me in place.
“A taste,” he said, his voice like a caress. “Of you.”
His words settled into my skin like heat, like a threat, like a promise. And then his hand slid up, cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing just beneath my cheekbone with the kind of gentleness that made something inside me break. His fingers pressed into my skin—not roughly, but firmly, like he was holding something precious, like if he let go, I’d disappear into the cold night air.
I’d been missing that. The one-night stands I’d collected like sad trophies to try to forget him…the football player who had cheated on me without a thought. None of them had touched me like this. Like they couldn’t believe I was real. No one had ever kissed me like they were both worshiping me and punishing themselves at the same time.
Easton’s lips touched mine…and the world stopped.
I forgot the cold. I forgot the party. I forgot the past and the future and the part where I was supposed to have moved on. All I knew washim. The soft press of his mouth against mine. The heat of his breath. The way he tasted like mint, whiskey, and something unreasonably addictive.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
It was a slow, soul-level detonation.
His mouth moved against mine with maddening control…soft and coaxing, then suddenly demanding. His tongue teased at my bottom lip, licking into my mouth with long, deep sweeps that had my knees quivering. A low sound vibrated in his chest, and the noise shot through me like thunder.
“Fuck,” he groaned, pulling back just far enough to look into my eyes, his voice wrecked. “I can’t believe you made me live without this.”
The words hit me like a sucker punch to the chest, but I couldn’t make myself pull away. I couldn’t make myself tell him to stop. Not when my entire body was begging me to do the opposite.
He tilted his head and kissed me again, deeper this time, his thumb brushing the corner of my mouth like he was savoring the taste of me. Like he’d missed it, too. Like he’d counted every day since he last had it.
And fuck, I wanted to scream,Me too.
My arms wound around his neck before I could think better of it, my fingers slipping into his hair like I was starving. His other hand dropped to my hip, and he tugged me flush against him, molding to mine, heat pouring off him in waves, and then—oh. Oh.
There it was.
His dick.
Hard. Massive.Dangerous.
