My finger motioned between us, expecting him to realize it. It was obvious to me. “Like I’m your little sister or something.”
“My little sister?” The look on my face managed to wipe whatever amusement had been about to surface. He took a breath. “What’s wrong with a guy treating a girl like a sister?” His shoulders moved beneath the tux jacket. “Respect comes with that, protection, taking care of her. Having her back, chasing off the cheese-dicks of the world. What’s wrong with that?”
After I got past the cheese-dick reference, I took a minute to consider that. Respect. Concern. Loyalty. My mind felt muddy from all of the conflict raging inside of me. One moment believing one thing—the next invalidating that belief.
“Nothing’s wrong with that,” I answered quietly.
“You just don’t want me looking at you and only thinking little sister—is that what you’re saying?” My eyes answered him. “How do you want me to look at you then?”
My mind stalled. The answer to that should have been easy to give since I’d been consumed by the topic for weeks. “Like I’m . . .”
Soren’s body drifted closer. “Like you’re someone I have feelings for?”
My head bobbed. “But I know you probably don’t, and I know I’m an idiot for telling you all of this because we live together and now it’s going to be all awkward, and . . .” I was sweating, that was how nervous I was. “What am I even saying right now? God. Just shut up already, Hayden.” When I realized Soren was still standing there, arms braced around me, eyes unyielding, I slouched into the wall. “What?”
“Just waiting to see if you’re serious.”
“Serious about what?”
His mouth twitched. “Shutting up.”
“Soren!” I slugged his arm. I’d just bared my soul—this wasn’t the time for his wit to run free.
“I just want to know.”
“Why?”
“So I can finally reply to everything you just said.”
Sealing my lips, I shrugged.
He had to fight another grin, but as he did, his feet slid closer, one settling between mine, the other outside my foot. His arms bent as his body pressed into mine. His chest rose and fell against mine with each breath, sending a cataclysm of sensations loose inside my body.
“What are you doing?” My voice quaked as his hands moved from the wall to the sides of my neck.
Soren’s eyes dropped to my mouth. “Answering your question,” he breathed as his index fingers skimmed my neck, causing a tangle of goose bumps to charge down my spine.
“Soren—”
“Still answering your question,” he whispered right before his mouth touched mine.
Every nerve in my body fired at once. A moment after, I lost control of them all.
My hands found themselves on his chest, sweeping beneath the lapels of his jacket. My lips found themselves parting as he kissed me, taking the lead, guiding me as our mouths came together and fell away like waves breaking on the beach.
I’d kissed a few boys back home. I’d made out with a couple of them too, but that had felt different than this did. Maybe it was because my feelings for Soren were stronger, or maybe it was because Soren didn’t kiss like a boy—sloppy and unsure, hands a groping, untamed mess.
No, Soren definitely didn’t kiss like a boy. My god, I wasn’t sure what to compare his knowledge of kissing to.
Soren kissed like a . . .
Deity. The damn deity of lust.
His hands stayed framed around my neck. His thumbs swept along my pulse points when he kissed me harder, and fell away when his intensity waned, allowing us each a moment to recover.
Five minutes went by. Maybe more. His mouth never once left mine, his hands staying secured to my neck. This was the best kiss of my life. I knew that. No kiss in the future would ever compare to the one happening right now in this small apartment in this giant city.
This was more than what I’d ever hoped to get in return from Soren—but still, I wanted more.
So much more.
My hands circled behind his neck as I leapt just enough to encircle his waist with my legs. The surprise of it drew a sound from deep in his chest, his mouth working against mine at the new pace I’d set.
Combustion. I was on my way, in the process of, or experiencing it. I’d never felt this way before to know for sure.
My tongue collided with his as his hands loosened from my neck to loop behind my backside. He pushed me harder into the wall, this time more with his hips than his chest. I could feel him straining through his slacks, fitting his warmth against mine.
Something uneven and low vibrated in my throat when I pitched my hips against him. The same type of sound, a few octaves lower, emanated from him.
He pressed me harder into the wall, pinning my hips to it, making it impossible for me to move. His tongue untangled from mine, his mouth slowed, and he pulled back just far enough, a ribbon of rational thought could form again.
“What?” I panted against his lips.
He was breathing hard, like he’d just finished sprinting the bases. His eyes were feral, the pupils almost swallowing his irises. “Did I answer your question?”
My breaths were just as fragmented, so I nodded my answer.
One side of his mouth pulled. “Good.”
His mouth. It wasn’t just nice to look at; it was capable of performing nice—really nice—things. Which made me want to get back to doing those nice things.
Soren pulled back when I moved back in.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. For one insecure moment, I wondered if I was a total letdown in the kissing department. Was I a bad kisser? The slobbering, messy kind?
“I just think that we should maybe slow down.” Soren’s eyes dropped to where my hands were still draped on his chest. I’d managed to get three of his shirt buttons undone, my fingers frozen on the fourth. I didn’t even remember reaching for the first.
“Slow down?” I repeated. That didn’t mean I was a bad kisser.
“Slow down.” His eyes moved lower, to where our hips were joined. My shirt had ridden up, my white underwear was showing, and something of his showed behind his zipper.
This didn’t seem like the time to slow down. My body was racing. I was ready; he was clearly ready.
“Why?” I asked, letting go of his shirt, which my fingers looked about to rip off.
His face pulled up like he was trying to answer that question himself. “I just think that we might be moving a little fast. Maybe,” he added, looking as unsure as he did sure. “Like you said, you’ve had champagne. You could totally be turned on by the sight of me in a tux because, well, no explanation needed right?” He leaned away so he could motion down at his tux.
Damn. He’d looked good all polished and pristine. But now, bow tie undone, shirt halfway open, hair mussed, his erection pushing against his zipper . . . this was what a girl’s dreams were made of.
“I only had two glasses of champagne.”
“You never drink.”
“Over the course of four hours.”
“You weigh nothing.”