Page 77 of Hate You, Maybe
Not that I’m actually sure.
Kissing Dex is probably a terrible decision, but I can’t think about that now. Not while our heated gazes meld. A shiver of anticipation overtakes me as he reaches out to the nape of my neck, laying his hand on the stretch of skin there. Then he glides his palm up, threading his fingers through my hair. He knots us together by the long strands, then he gently guides my head to just the right angle. A low rumble of need sounds in his throat, and I feel it in the core of me.
“This kiss is for real.” His voice is deep and guttural.
“It better be,” I say.
I barely get the words out before his mouth slants over mine, stealing my breath, not to mention all thoughts of reason in my brain. I gulp against his lips, and a small moan escapes me. His other arm snakes around the base of my spine, and he gathers my body to him until I’m fully flush against the strong wall of his chest.
Then I go boneless.
All my old familiar thoughts about lists and clipboards and reasons why I’d nevereverlet myself fall for a coworker disappear, and in their wake is a new realization: I want this man. Imorethan want him. Maybe I always have. But I covered up my desire with anger that wasn’t real.
That he didn’t deserve.
And he let me push him away the whole time, absorbing all my outrageous slings and arrows. The jabs and darts he hadn’t earned. Instead, he’d answer with his own barbs, but they were just harmless attempts to shift the tone from combative to playful. Dex wanted to play with me all along.
I want to play, too, now.
My hands grip his shoulders, clinging to him like he’s the life preserver and I’ve been treading water for years. His kiss is an urgent blend of give and take. Both generous and greedy. And I’ve never felt cherished like this. So perfectly beautiful. So ready to surrender control.
My knees buckle, and Dex takes charge. I haven’t trusted anyone else this deeply before. No one but myself. But in this moment, I believe in him fully. He’s completely owning me. And I’m living for it.
For several long minutes—or hours or days—our mouths are a tangle. A true team effort. Then Dex goes rogue, tugging my kiss-drunk lip between his teeth. And in between little teasing nips, he breathes out my name.
“Sayla.” His mouth leaves mine to trace a hot, lazy trail along my jaw. “I don’t want to fight with you anymore.”
My pulse gallops through the racetrack of my veins. “I don’t want to fight with you, either.”
His lips begin a gentle caress down my neck. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”
“I have, too,” I whisper.
The words come out, tripping over themselves, caught in my throat, along with all the oxygen. I just told Dexter Michaels I’ve wanted to kiss him for so long. And that I don’t want to fight with him anymore.
What is even happening?
Here in these woods, with so much on the line when we get back home, everything is heightened. Our emotions and desires. So is this moment just the fallout of a temporary situation? Collateral damage?
Sayla From Before would never be so foolish. But Sayla From Tonight apparently doesn’t care.
With a soft sigh, I eliminate every thought or sensation beyond Dexter’s strong, safe arms. I need to stop overthinking. I deserve to feel cared for. Cherished, even. To finally let go of?—
My phone starts buzzing between us.
In the front pocket of my sweatshirt.
Dexter freezes, his mouth at my collarbone.
“Don’t answer that,” he grits out.
I swallow hard, wishing I hadn’t wasted a single second questioning our kisses now that they've stopped. “What if it’s an emergency?” My voice is shaky. “Loren might need me.”
Dex groans, but he steps away, hands up in his hair, eyes heavy-lidded. Slipping the phone out, I check the screen and let out a shuddering breath. It’s not Loren. And I doubt it’s an emergency either.
Dex drops his arms. “What is it?”
“Not what,” I say. “Who.” I answer the call. “Hi, Mom.”
