Page 33 of Midnights
Clearly, men are not good for my hygiene, or my mental health.
And this one? He’s the poster boy forbad decisions.
I take a slow, deep breath, trying to rein myself in. My voice is light when I force out a laugh. “Oh, I guess that would be okay. Hopefully, you’re not a crazy person that’s going to murder us. I’d hate for Rachel to be right. Although, I guess if I do get murdered, at least I can say I checked someth—”
I don’t get to finish my sentence.
His mouth crashes into mine, obliterating whatever ridiculous thought was about to spill out. I don’t even have time to react before his hands are threading through my hair, gripping the back of my head and tilting me up to meet his demanding kiss.
My thoughts? Gone.
Every coherent string of logic I had left? Shattered.
His lips are soft and nothing like I imagined, yet exactly what I should’ve expected.
Ofcoursehe kisses like he owns the very air I breathe. And ofcourse,my body betrays me, responding on instinct. My mouth parts and I grip his shirt, pulling him closer instead of shoving him away like I should be.
I really need to work on my self-control. Because, clearly, I don’t possess a damn ounce of it right now. One hot guy pays attention to me, and suddenly, I'mmeltingin his arms?
Absolutely not.
Except that’s exactly what’s happening.
I should be furious. I should be shoving him off, throwing out some stupid comment to put distance between us, but instead,I’m sinking into him.
The second my lips part, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, claiming every inch like he’s starving for me. A low, satisfied groan rumbles from his chest, vibrating against my skin, and that’s it. I’m done for.
I meet his intensity with my own, my fingers twisting into his hair, dragging him closer.
His grip tightens at my waist and I feel his palm on the small of my back as he pulls me against him. The heat of his body iseverywhere, consuming and setting fire to every nerve ending I have left.
He tilts my head back, deepening the kiss.
God help me,I let him.
Because right now, I don’t care about logic. I don’t care that Kane is probably nothing but trouble.
All I care about is how he tastes. Whiskey, and somethingdark,something that makes me ache in a way I don’t want to think about.
His teeth graze my bottom lip, sharp enough to send a shockwave of heat straight through me. A broken gasp escapes, and that must be all the permission he needs, because his hand slides lower, gripping my hips, anchoring me to him.
I’m so fucked.
I’m never drinking again. I know I’ll regret this, but right now I don’t give a damn about anything except the way his mouth moves against mine.
His kiss is relentless, anddamn, he’s good at it.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers that I should be mildly embarrassed by how easily I caved. But I’m not.
One little kiss won’t hurt. His grip tightens as he holds me still.
Heat pours through me like wildfire. My hands slide up his chest and my body presses into his. I swear I hear a low, dangerous growl vibrating against my lips like a promise. Before I can even process what’s happening, he pulls away.
He steps back so suddenly, I almost stumble forward, like my body physically refuses to let him go.
And then he has the audacity to smile at me. What felt like an eternity was probably only a few seconds, but fuck. I’m left standing there, completely untethered.
I blink, trying to regain control of my traitorous, weak-willed body, as my mind scrambles to process what the hell just happened.
