Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 20192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 101(@200wpm)___ 81(@250wpm)___ 67(@300wpm)
“Yes, I did,” I whisper, mentally begging for him to believe me. “You just weren’t paying attention.”
“Yes, I was.”
That’s fair for him to believe that. Dean doesn’t miss anything. He’s observant and intuitive. But my brain and heart are still learning how to function as a team. I’ve done some things in the past that might have presented as pranks, but if he’d just examine those pranks a little closer, I’m sure he would realize I always had ulterior motives. “When someone grows up in a household with four siblings, they must be loud and creative so they don’t get lost in the shuffle. Pranks were my way of getting your attention.”
I can see he’s still highly skeptical, studying my face for signs of deception.
Man, I’ve really messed this dude up.
“You’re a hell of an actress, Berry. I’ve witnessed you bring a whole dining hall to tears with that monologue from Gone Girl.”
The urge to recite it again now bubbles in my throat. Thespian problems. “I’m not acting. Do you really think I would go this far? Lipstick and my best black halter top?”
“Yes, you would.”
“Wow, you didn’t even hesitate.” I make an exasperated sound. “If I’m lying about having a crush on you, then wouldn’t you be able to tell if you kissed me?”
He’s back to staring hard at my mouth, the muscles shifting in his throat. “It’s risky.”
“I’m not a risk.”
“You’re the ultimate risk.”
I melt against him a little more. “Thank you.”
His half smile is riveting. “You’re so sure that was a compliment?”
“Dean, I don’t know how long I can keep my head tilted back in this position before my neck locks up. Better kiss me soon.”
I’m shocked that my ingenuity worked when his big hands settle on my hips.
He gives them a frustrated squeeze.
This is it.
He’s going to kiss me.
And when I put every ounce of feeling I’ve got into it, he’ll know I’m for real.
I close my eyes.
But instead of Dean’s mouth pressing to mine, he picks me up and settles me carefully onto the Formica laundry table to the right of the tumbling dryer. To which I might have launched a protest, if his waist wasn’t now in between my knees, the palms of his hands skimming up the outsides of my thighs, causing goose bumps to form on my arms, my breasts feeling heavier in the bathing suit top that I’m wearing under the halter. “That better for your neck?” he asks in his deep, quiet voice, his head tilted to study me, close enough that his breath ghosts my lips.
“Much,” I breathe.
Brow furrowed, he searches my eyes. “You really want me to kiss you.”
Anticipation snakes all the way down to my toes. “Yes.”
He leans in. Closer. Closer. His lips graze mine, and he makes a sound, like that alone was a satisfaction he’d been dreaming about. Or is that too much to hope for? “Last chance to call it off, Berry.”
I shake my head.
His fingertips trail higher to the waistband of my jean shorts, his fingers snagging in the loops—and he tugs me closer, straight into his kiss. And oh, I’m wildly unprepared. I get stuck processing the crisp mint taste of him, the hard but giving texture of his lips, and I get almost too dizzy to keep up with what’s happening. But despite the spectrum of colors twisting in my mind, my hands help me by moving on their own, lifting to his face to test the scruff, then around to his hair that is a perfect mix of soft and thick, an absolute paradise for my fingers, but then I’m just clinging. I’m clinging to the strands of his hair, because his lips urge mine to open, and we both shudder as his tongue licks in, that single stroke making the seam of my shorts feel very close. Very tight. Pausing briefly to gasp for air, I surge forward and give him my tongue next, whimpering at the way he takes it so hungrily, crowding closer between the V of my legs, his mouth working and working me toward a manic pace that feels like home for me. A home he’s made for me and kept waiting.
“Dean . . .”
He tears his mouth from mine and plants our foreheads together, his breath pelting my lips. “How far are you going to let me take this before you admit you’re full of shit?”
My world tilts to the left, a flat dial tone ringing in my ears. “What?”
He strokes a hand from the crown of my head, down the full length of my braid, tugging gently. “I can feel you hesitating.”
“No. I-I’ve just never done this before.”
Dean scrutinizes me, and I stare back at him openly, letting him see how much I love kissing him, how excited I am to keep going. I let every ounce of an eight-year pining binge brim in my eyes, yet he still looks unsure of my intentions—and that skepticism, after I’ve poured my heart into our first kiss, makes me snap.