Page 48 of My Debacle with De Lorenzo

“That one did have a little frosting on it, didn’t it?” He smiles. “But I wasn’t flirting...just being honest.”

“Well, thank you.” I pack up my stuff, then sling my bag over my shoulder and close the gap between us. “And thank you for coming to check on me. That was very sweet of you.”

I rise up onto my toes to kiss him on the cheek, and I don’t know what possesses him to do this, but he turns his head at the last second. Maybe he just wanted to see what the heck I was doing, but the result is that my lips land half on his cheek and half on his mouth, and thewholesituation instantly gets awkward.

He’s shocked for a few seconds as his brain tries to process what just happened. I freeze, because even though I thoroughly enjoy making him uncomfortable, that wasn’t planned, and I was not prepared for the bolt of electricity that hit me the second my lips touched his. Tension rapidly escalates between us.

Annoyance flashes in his eyes. “What was that?”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” I say quickly, and I don’t think I have ever sounded so timid. “Are you mad?”

“Li’l bit, yeah.” He snickers, but I’m uncertain about the amount of humor behind it. This has put him in a weird mood because he’s upset about it, but at the same time, he’s oddly amused. “That sort of...overstepped a boundary.”

I pull my lips in to stop a smile because it’s kinda cute how mad he is. “The kiss was intended for your cheek.”

“We kiss each other on the cheek now?” He runs his thumb over his mouth and I’m not sure if he’s trying to erase the lingering feeling or wipe off the gloss.

“I thought we bonded after you fondled my boob on Saturday.”

That comment grates him even more, but a barely audible chuckle is all I get in return. His hand curls into a fist and he leans back, lightly thumping it against the wall as if he’s playing a song in his head. Heated brown eyes stay pinned on me and I can’t read that weird smirk on his face. Is he mad or amused? I can’t tell. Silence stretches on and the air seems to sizzle with words unspoken.

I try to ease the tension. “Would it make you feel better if I said I was sorry?”

“Nope.” His smile widens. “See, I can’tun-feelwhat just happened, and I didn’t...I didn’t want to know what that felt like. I was doin’ just fine not knowing.”

Okay, that confirms that he’s definitely more irritated than amused and his annoyance should take preference here, but I’m sort of stuck on his accent and him not pronouncing theGindoing. “What if I promised I wouldneverdo that?”

“Hey, do we still have that rule that whatever happens in the bathroom stays in the bathroom?”

If that’s what it takes to kill this awful awkwardness, then I’m all for it. “Sure. If that’s what you want, we can do that.”

His hand moves back to his mouth, and he rubs the same spot again. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”

Glad that it’s resolved, I give him a cordial nod. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

I shift around him to make my way to the exit, and he takes the first two steps with me, but then, without warning, he turns and grabs the front of my shirt. Walking backward, he all but drags me into the nearest stall.

“What are you doing?”

“Something I’m probably gonna regret.”

The door slams shut behind me before he shoves me up against it. The force he uses is enough to push the air out of me, but his hand comes up behind my head to cushion the blow. His broad body covers me, the hard wall of his chest trapping me against the door. I’m not a small girl, but I’m dwarfed by the size of him, feeling like a defenseless pixie when his strong arms cage me in from both sides. There’s one moment of uncertainty, only a single second where he seems to reconsider, and then his mouth crashes down on mine.

Confusion turns into shock, which quickly turns into raw heat. The tip of his tongue coaxes my lips apart and I allow it entry into my mouth. Subsonic explosions detonate all over my body, violent bursts of energy rippling across my skin. Holy shit! Dylan De Lorenzo is kissing me. And that kiss is setting a new standard. It’s so high on the leaderboard that every kiss I’ve experienced pales in comparison, and I fear that every kiss from this point on will, too.

His kiss is an intoxicating mix of teeth and tongue and lips and hands. Yes, hands. His thumb makes its presence known at random intervals, running over my lower lip before tugging my chin so he can thrust his tongue deeper into my mouth. The cool metal of his thumb ring contrasts with my highly flushed skin, making me realize how hot I am.

I’m not going to downplay my track record. I’ve been around the block. Many times. Most days I’m just out there handing out complimentary tours on my ever-reliable lust bus. In fact, there is a monument erected in my honor because I am the queen of this fucking block. But even with the vast, intricate knowledge I’ve gained, I’m now left feeling like an amateur, a mere visitor of the block. I stupidly thought I needed more stimulation to become this needy, quivering mess. A nipple squeeze or a flick of the clit to get me to this desperate, aching state of arousal. But this guy has not touched anything but my face and I’m clinging onto his T-shirt because I’m all weak in the knees. The bell rings in the distance, but I barely hear it over my ragged breaths.

“Dylan...” I murmur.

He smiles with his lips still pressed to mine. “I’m Dylan now?”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, his teeth sink into my lower lip hard enough for it to throb and when I whimper, his tongue lightly runs over the same spot as if trying to soothe the sting. I spread my legs slightly, sandwiching his thigh between both of mine, and his breathing elevates. The hard bulge in his jeans seems to be silently begging for attention. I shift my hips, grinding against him, and he groans, a raspy sound that vibrates straight down to my core. I feel myself getting wetter, my body craving more.

My hand moves down his abs, but he grips my wrist before I make it to his jeans and slams it against the door. Again, he seems to take note that he used more force than necessary because his palm slides over mine before he interlinks our fingers. His thumb gently caresses mine and that small gesture is so intimate, so tender, so different to his ravenous mouth. These conflicting sensations are driving me insane because his kiss is exactly likehim. It’s undecided. It doesn’t know whether it wants to be rough or gentle, hard or soft, pain or pleasure, so it just ends up being this infuriatingly delicious combination of everything.

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