Page 69 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

With my arms pinned above my head, I manage to throw the final cracker I’m holding with a flick of my wrist. It smacks him in the cheek. Quiet laughter erupts between us as it ricochets somewhere in the vicinity of my shoulder. His gaze follows it down, trailing along the spot just above my collarbone.

“This is definitely why we went to law school,” he says. His voice has gone all smoky smooth. It makes me feel like liquid caramel: slow, sweet, melty.

“So we could fight to the death over partnership?” I tease.

“Nope,” he says. “So I can do this.”

In one teasing movement, he leans down, and I feel his breath against my neck.

Feel him nuzzle the collar of my shirt out of the way.

Feel him nibble at the exposed, sensitive stretch of skin.

Oh god.

The rush of heat is instant. That hungry, electric current buzzes through me in full force, and I feel myself shift into him. It’s a gentle roll that starts with my hips, swells across my breasts, and tips my head back with the smallest sigh.

I’ve almost forgotten why he’s doing this – god, does there even need to be a why? – when he emerges with the stray cracker victoriously between his teeth. He waggles his eyebrows at me and snaps it up with a slow smirk. When it’s gone, he runs his tongue along his full bottom lip for emphasis. He meets my gaze with a teasing challenge.

“Objection,” I murmur.

“On what grounds?” he asks innocently.

Coworkers.

Company policy.

Career suicide.

These responses swim through my periphery, but none of them verbalize. Professionally, I know I shouldn’t do this. Personally, though? My chest feels like it might cave in if he doesn’t kiss me.

“I didn’t want you to stop,” I admit.

This response visibly affects him. I love that it affects him. His gaze dances down across my mouth, and it’s such a short distance. We both seem to realize we’re a breath away from breaking every rule. And I want to. My heart is pounding in my throat, between my legs where he’s pressing against me.

His hands slide down my arms and thread into my hair, tipping my head back until my lips part. “Tell me when?”

He drags his nose down my neck. I feel his breath, the tentative brush of his lips, and everything in me comes alive in response. He strings kisses across the smooth, sensitive stretch of skin. A tiny little moan escapes me.

“Now?” he breathes.

I tip my head to give him more of me. “Not yet.”

Just a little more, and I tell myself we’ll stop.

He switches to the other side, angling my head with his hand. His tongue scrambles my thoughts. The gentle nip of his teeth sends sparks through my body. My nipples harden as he runs his tongue along my pulse point.

“What about now, Heidi?” The husky sound of my name on his lips is intoxicating. His mouth has worked its way up, and his teeth tug at my earlobe. “Have you had enough yet?”

The blush rises in my cheeks as a strangled moan escapes me. When he looks at me, his eyes have gone dark and feral, and I know he can see it as plainly as if it were written on my face: this absolute wanting, this primal need, pooling hot and liquid in my center. I’m almost embarrassed how turned on I am right now.

Because he hasn’t even kissed me. He was just supposed to kiss me. Something playfully accidental, and mostly innocent, that we could laugh about later. Everything about that seems much safer than this, because now I want more of him. I want all of him.

He drags a thumb across my bottom lip.

“Sorry, I didn’t quite get that,” he murmurs.

I swell with a sigh, threading my hands up the sides of his neck and into his hair. It’s thick between my fingers, and I grab fistfuls of it. I should stop. I tell myself I’m going to stop.

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