Page 43 of Crave

“Aren’t they, though?” I lean in closer. “Or maybe…you're just…” He leans in too. “Scared.”

“Scared?” He looks like he’s about to laugh. Our lips are a breath apart.

“Scared to let go. If someone fills your head the way music does, you might…”

“Go on.”

“Fly apart.”

“Maybe I will,” he whispers.

“But you might just fly.”

The moment stretches out. His gorgeous lips part. His breath is warm. He bites his lower lip, letting it pull between his teeth.

“Do you want to fly, Ben?”

His green eyes dart. To the left, to the right, back to my face. Goosebumps spatter my skin, and my nipples ache, tight and hard in my black lace halter.

I’ve never been so turned on.

“I don't know what to do.” A flush rises up his cheekbones. A trickle of sweat slides down his forehead.

I lick my lips. “I know. If we kiss, you'll be so pure. Like tasting the breath of angels.”

“I’m no angel.”

Now my heart’s beating fast. As if it’smyfirst time. I lean even closer and give him the littlest, tiniest kiss on the cheek.

And he attacks me.

In the best possible way.

I’m too surprised to kiss him back at first. His mouth is absolutely everywhere. He sucks on my lips, licks my neck, shoves his tongue into my ear. When he grips my arms, running his hands up and down the skin, I swear every inked flower and thorn springs to life under his grasp.

My breath comes in short bursts. His excitement is catching, and I give it right back to him with my lips on his jaw, his mouth, his throat.

Under my tongue, his pulse throbs with a primal beat.

Ben is definitely flesh and blood.

The tussle of give and take is driving me mad. It reverberates through my body like the energy from a show. I thrust my hands into his curls like I’ve wanted to for days. He twines his fingers in my shaggy pink hair and pulls me into a hard kiss. There’s a lot of tongue, a lot of slurping and inexperienced eagerness.

I want it all.

I don’t want to teach him right now, to mold his moves so they’re sensual and suave. I want all the raw untutored desire. The haunting passion in his music, made hot and real.

We’re wrestling on the seat in a tangle of arms and legs, until I’m brought up short by his hard cock pressing into my thigh.

He freezes.

Kissing his neck, I work my hand between our entwined bodies to cup the bulge. He’s rock-hard, about to burst through his frayed jeans, and I stroke his erection lightly through the soft, worn denim.

His whole body shudders.

“Is this okay?” I squeeze his rigid shaft, enjoying the perfect shape of his cock. “Do you like it when I touch you here?”

A strangled groan leaves his lips.

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