“I was gonna kiss him. Robby. He was gonna be my first kiss.”
His heart pounded as his arms wound around her, pulling her close to him, as close as he could, until her breasts were crushed against his chest. His cock sprang to life, hardening and thickening behind his jeans, wanting more from this beloved, forbidden girl.
“Never been kissed?”
“Not yet.”
Blood pounded in his head as he reviewed what she was saying, and though he willed himself to ignore her thinly veiled suggestion, he found he couldn’t. After three years of longing and a lifetime ahead, he just couldn’t leave the moment alone.
“You still want that first kiss?” he asked close to her ear, his voice low and husky.
Her breath, which was hot and sweet on his neck, hitched. “You offerin’?”
“What if I say yes?” he whispered.
She drew away from him, still nestled within the circle of his arms, but her eyes, the gorgeous brown eyes that had haunted his dreams for a thousand nights or more, searched his face, caressing it, reading it, understanding it. He held his breath, his stomach in knots, his eyes flicking to her lips, before meeting her gaze again.
“I still want that first kiss,” she murmured, raking her teeth across her bottom lip. She dropped her eyes to his mouth and let her hot gaze linger there.
Cain’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips instinctively, his breathing shallow and ragged as he stared down at her.
“You’re sure?”
Her eyes slid up slowly to meet his, certain and clear. “I’m sure.”
Cain reached up for her cheek, placing his palm against the softness of her skin reverently as his fingers threaded into her golden hair. Her eyes fluttered and closed, and he touched her jaw with his other hand, cupping her face, drinking in the sight of Ginger in stunning submission as he leaned closer, lowering his lips to hers.
For all that this might have been Cain’s millionth kiss, the most terrifying thing about kissing Ginger was that it felt like the very first. Like no one had ever come before. Like no one could ever come after. And as his heart thundered painfully behind his ribs, he knew—for the very first time, after years of hunting—what it felt like to surrender.
Soft as rose petals, her lips were parted and still beneath his. She gasped as his mouth settled on hers, stealing his breath and making him dizzy. He closed his eyes, tightening his grip on her face as he nuzzled her nose, taking her top lip between his, then her bottom, then gently swiping the tip of his tongue along the loose seam of her lips. She opened to him like a flower to sunshine, her back arching as she touched his tongue with her own, trembling in his arms as he pulled her still closer.
He slid his tongue slowly along the length of hers, swallowing her moan as she arched against him instinctively. His fingers twined in the lush waves of her hair, holding her head in place as he tilted his face to the other side, resealing his lips over hers. Blood rushed furiously to his groin, and he growled, his hunger mounting as he claimed her mouth, as he memorized the taste of her, the way she felt in his arms, the way it sounded when she gasped, breathing him into her lungs.
His own breath was fast and shallow, and though he’d already stolen more than a moment from her, already betrayed the cousin he loved as a brother, he wanted so much more. He wanted her lying beneath him, her soft eyes encouraging him, the tight walls of her virgin sex pulsing around him. He wanted to watch her face as he made love to her and feel her wild heart pound against his as he held her in his arms for hours after. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted—
Without warning her, he jerked his head away from her, breaking off their kiss as his fingers, still threaded deeply into her hair, flexed and froze in horror.
This wasn’t some girl with dyed hair that he’d picked up at the goddamned Gas & Sip! This was Ginger! The princess. Everything good and sweet and pure. And his lips . . . God, his lips had been in places he could hardly bear to think about right now, but he certainly had no business tarnishing her sweet lips with his.
And fuck. She was Woodman’s Ginger, not his. She deserved someone like his cousin—someone upstanding and smart and clean who hadn’t fucked half the county, who had a decent future mapped out for his life that he could offer to a girl like her. Hell, hell, hell, fuck. He panted raggedly, sliding his hands from her hair and wincing as he realized the full magnitude of what he’d just done.
“Cain?” she murmured, her eyes fluttering open, drunk and dark with lust.
His heart clenched, and he swallowed over the lump in his throat, and, God almighty, if he was wrecked one second ago, now he was ruined for life. She raised her hand to press her fingertips against her lips, and her eyes, so soft and sweet, were languid as her body leaned toward his and her chest heaved with breaths as labored as his own. Until he died, he’d have this vision in his head of Princess Ginger’s blinding, angelic beauty.