He looks just as surprised as I am as he stares at my throat. Through hooded lashes, his focus travels to my mouth. One of his thumbs scrapes along my neck.
The way he wants me is written into the bend in his body. It’s in the charged space between us, the rasp of his voice. There is palpable desire looping back and forth, him to me, me to him, and no, we can’t playact like it’s not exactly what it is for one more second. I think, maybe, this was a foregone conclusion the minute I crawled into bed with him. And I think I knew it then, and Alex knew it, too.
And bought detergent accordingly.
“Remember when you called me pretty?”
“Beautiful.” He gulps. Takes a step forward, pushing me lightly with his hands until my body presses against the wall. “I remember. And what I meant to say is that when I first saw you, I thought you were so fucking beautiful that I would have razed Manhattan to see you smile.”
Light-headed, half-delirious, I blurt out, “I’ve never been out of the country.”
Wow, I am really all over the board right now. Got to find the plot.
To Alex’s credit, all he says is, “No?”
I shake my head, hair spilling into my face. His hand lifts from my other shoulder to tuck it behind my ear. “It just never happened for me,” I whisper. “My dad is terrified of planes, so it was out of the question when I was a kid. And I never studied abroad because I was just … scared of the idea of it back then, I guess.” Alex is watching me with rapt attention, like these stumbled-over half sentences coming out of my mouth are the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. “Anyway, I’m desperate to go explore.”
Another caress of his thumb on my jawline. Alex clears his throat. “I bet you’d love it.”
“I think so, too. Which is why I’m getting transferred to Little Cooper’s London office next summer.”
There is a moment of hesitation, just one moment, and then Alex says, “That’s great.”
Yes. It’s great. Get this under control, Casey. Make it mean less. Make it meaningless. That’s your solution. Set the terms.
“But also … I’ve been thinking about how you and me … We aren’t in the same department.”
His lips part softly. “Definitely not.”
“So…”
“So,” he repeats. “If we wanted to…”
“Kiss again, for example. Or, you know, do other things that, um, consensually follow kissing, on occasion.”
Alex is still staring at my mouth. “There wouldn’t be any problem with that. Professionally.”
Except for the fact that we do work together pretty damn closely, and also, we’ve got this whole YouTube gig—
“And it wouldn’t have to be awkward,” I say. “Or even a big deal at all, because—”
“Because of London,” Alex whispers. “Works for me. Can I kiss you now?”
“Okay.”
His lips reach mine, and when they do, I realize there was no. way. we could have avoided this for much longer.
He does it again, that thing, the gentle tease where his mouth just brushes mine and hovers there, savoring, but somehow it’s the most intense thing I’ve ever felt, slow and intentional, a swallow of wine before the full glass is poured. But this time, it lasts only the span of an exhale, and then his mouth slants fully against mine in crushing, burning heat. Our noses kiss, too, and Alex’s lips are impossibly soft like clouds, and they’re wet, like rain.
If this moment is a blind slope, Alex and I are about to stumble over it, incapable now of retracing our steps back to safety.
And outside, the sky thunders like the universe knows what we’ve just done.
Alex’s fingers ghost across my neck, into my hair, tugging, and I grab a fistful of his shirt to pull him closer. Like a drug, I want more. I don’t understand it, don’t get what makes this different from any other kiss I’ve ever participated in, but it just … is.
I make a small, frustrated noise when his hand skates down my side and palms at my butt, and then a much louder noise of turmoil when he pulls his lips off me a split second later and sets his palms on the wall, bracketing my head. He’s panting heavily, staring at the floor, and I’m panting heavily, staring at him.
“Alex?” I squeak.
“Just give me a minute,” he groans miserably. I let my head fall against the wall and watch him out of half-closed eyes.
Eventually, he looks up at me and says, still mostly breathless, “The flowers.”
I blink. “The flowers?”
“Cosmos, you called them.” His voice is hoarse.
“Chocolate cosmos.”
“Right.” Alex nods. I think he’s the one who’s lost the plot this time. “I hate to break this to you, but they’re looking a little worse for wear. You should probably come over right away and water them.”
I bite my lip. Humor is dancing in his dark, stormy eyes.
“Alex, even you are perfectly capable of watering flowers.”
He shakes his head. “I’d do it wrong. It’s got to be you.”
“On a school night?” I stage-whisper.
His voice scalds me. “Don’t make me beg, Casey.”
I’m nodding before I even make a conscious decision to do it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The second I walk through Alex’s door his lips catch mine, his hips kiss mine, and there’s another wall behind my back, every thought floating out of my head except for Holy crap this is so good how is this so good. It’s pouring rain outside, and my skin is damp with dewy drops. A crack of thunder makes me shiver, and Alex just laughs, pressing closer.
One of his hands is on my waist, the other skating across my cheek. I’m overwhelmed by his touch, the way it’s both achingly gentle and a contained kind of pressure. Every place he touches me starts a mini-inferno, and I make a noise of surprise as he kisses me hungrier, then hungrier. His mouth slides against mine, warm, firm, purposeful. I feel like I’m getting devoured.
“For the record.” Small kiss, big kiss. “I’ve barely gotten a thing done at work since I learned what it’s like to sleep next to you.”
“No?” I pant.
“No. You are quickly becoming the best distraction I’ve ever encountered.”
“I’m sorry.”
He sucks on the side of my neck and mumbles, “I’m not.”
I start to unbutton his shirt. He smells clean and cottony and perfect, like a rainy vacation rental on your first day.
“Can you describe to me,” Alex rasps, “in a bit more detail.” He’s looking down at my fingers working his shirt open. “What exactly you meant when you said, Other things that follow kissing, on occasion?”
I pause and look up at him. “I meant that I want to have sex with you.”
He nods, staring at my swollen lips. “Thank you for clarifying.”
The next thing I know, I’m being carried to his bed. We land on his sheets in a heap of half-torn-off clothes and newly formed love bites.