Page 15 of Bingeworthy
I close my eyes against the flood welling up.
Despite my efforts, a single tear falls down my cheek. A rough, warm thumb brushes against my skin, wiping away the tear.
“Tiffany.”
“Rocco.”
His hand moves to the outside of my jeans, this time dragging upward past my knee as he leans in. His warm lips sweep over mine. Softly. Sweetly. And too, too quickly.
That hand squeezes my thigh, causing a crackle of lightning to my core.
I fist the front of his sweater and pull him back to me, pressing my lips harder this time, tasting more. He pulls back. A low growl escapes him, and I open my eyes.
“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” I say.
“Can you put weight on that phony injury?”
“Let’s find out.”
Rocco’s eyes darken, and he pulls me to standing. He closes in, claiming my mouth with his.
The kiss is not soft and sweet this time. We lock together in a dance of lips and tongues and teeth. He tastes like cider and cinnamon. I melt into him, fitting my body against his like it was always meant to be there. Rocco’s scruff tickles my skin. His hand cups the back of my neck while his mouth owns me.
“Auntie Tiffany, what are you doing to Uncle Rocco?”
Breaking away from the kiss, I look down to find the pint-sized Elizabeth watching us. I give a dopey smile.
“I’m kissing him.”
Her cinnamon-sugar-covered hands go to her cheeks. “Are you gonna get married?”
Mortified, I cut my eyes to Rocco. Without missing a beat, Rocco slips his arm around my waist and says, “Do you think we should?” With that, he gives me a squeeze.
Elizabeth squeals and runs away toward the crowd of family and friends making their way back to the house for dessert.
The November sun is quickly dropping behind the woods, and soon the backyard will be lit by bonfire, halogen heat lamps and strings of party lights.
The night already feels magical as Rocco takes me by the hand and leads me up the rear terrace stairs of his house.
Hopefully, they’ll save us some pumpkin pie.
Chapter Seven
Ican’t stop pulling him back to me for more.
Everything in me pushes forward, forward, forward.
I don’t know if the screen door is locked and I don’t care. My hands roam over the front of his shirt as Rocco’s mouth explores every inch of my throat. I angle my head to the side and let my eyes flutter closed. His lips are so warm. So perfect.
“If this is too fast for you, Tiffany…”
“Shut up and put your hands on me,” I breathe, not wanting to put any distance between us, even as we kick off our shoes and move into the family room.
Rocco walks away for a moment. The sound of the lock makes my stomach flip-flop.
“You can call this off at any time. I’m locking the door so no one can walk in on us.”
“So you’ve met my family,” I joke, watching his backlit form grow larger and larger as he comes to me, where I’m leaning against the back of the sofa.
