He groaned and opened his mouth beneath mine, and the amount of victory I felt—it was better than my first successful batch of the mood ring lipstick, and I didn’t know I could feel more triumphant than that.
Whatever resistance he’d been holding on to for whatever reason—that quickly came tumbling down. He was intense, heated, wanting. His kisses were raw with a ruthless need that was shocking. I had known this was there—lurking beneath the surface—I just hadn’t been prepared for how incredible it would feel. Knowing that he wanted me as much as I wanted him. The way it would send lightning singing through my veins.
I registered that we had shifted, and I was lying against the couch with him on top of me. But whether he’d pushed me back or I had pulled him down, I wasn’t sure, but either way, neither one of us seemed to mind.
His kisses were fiery, demanding, and utterly consuming. It was like he had turned into a fallen electrical wire, buzzing and moving, too dangerous to touch, likely to overload my nervous system and destroy me. The electricity he sparked spread outward through me in a circular pattern, like a pebble being thrown into still water. The high voltage of his touch seemed to increase as those circles grew. He kissed and kissed me, in long, hungry strokes.
Then suddenly he stopped kissing me, and it was like being unplugged. I hated that he’d stopped, and I tried to protest.
But he had simply moved his lips across my cheek, up to my eyelid, down to my jaw, and then farther down to press soft kisses along my neck. Some perverse part of me wanted to remind him that there was no lipstick to test in any of these new locations, but the rest of me told it to shut up.
“Do you think we should pace ourselves?” he asked against my skin before he softly pressed the tip of his tongue against the pulse point in my neck, and my eyes rolled back in my head.
“Do you want to pace yourself?” I asked.
“Not particularly,” he said before he kissed my pulse with his mouth. My erratic, unstable pulse that was liable to give out on me.
I wondered how it was possible to feel so charged and so hazy at the same time. While he continued to explore my throat with his mouth, I tugged on the back of his shirt to get my hands on some of the muscles I’d been dying to touch. When my skin made contact, it temporarily halted his movement, and he took in a sharp breath. His skin was warm and soft and oh, those rigid muscles of his. A girl could devote her life to this particular field of study.
Then he was kissing me again with that wild abandonment that made me feel like my brain was having a heart attack. Or a series of mini strokes. This wasn’t butterflies that I was feeling in my stomach, though. It was eagles. Massive Lord of the Rings eagles flapping with their giant wingspan. And not just in my stomach. In every organ, under every patch of skin I possessed.
A tight electrical knot formed in my gut and begged to be released. Somehow, he deepened our kiss, making me feverish and frantic.
Simply put—a combustion reaction in chemistry was when something reacted with oxygen, and it released energy in heat and light as a result. That was my reaction with him. Completely combustible.
But a nagging part of my brain reminded me that Marco didn’t know everything about our situation, and I felt like he should. Stupid guilt getting in the way of everything.
I pushed slightly against his shoulders. “I feel bad.”
He grinned and then kissed me quickly. “That’s the opposite of how you should be feeling right now. I can fix that.”
“No, this is like . . . false pretenses.” It was very hard to gather my thoughts enough that I could explain myself. “Because I’m—”
I’m in love with you.
I couldn’t tell him. It would change everything. And fake relationship or not, I liked where we were. I was willing to accept crumbs if it meant I got to be close to him. I didn’t want to scare him off. Plus, my traitorous mouth refused to form the words because it was much more interested in being fused to his.
He reached up to gently move some hair from my face, letting his fingers brush against my skin, and I leaned against his hand, wanting more of his fiery touch. There was something there in his eyes—something pure and strong—and it sent a rush of emotion through me.
“I wish you’d forget . . .” He let his voice trail off.
“Forget what?” I prompted, desperate to know.
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
I wanted to tell him that it did matter, but he was kissing my throat again, and apparently that made my voice box stop working completely. His hot mouth sent bolts of electricity shooting through me, sparkling and crackling until all I wanted to do was be lost in him.
When he returned his lips to mine, something had shifted. He turned over on the couch, pulling me so that we switched positions. Now he slowed our kiss, gentling it with a tenderness that made me ache even more. Those electrical flames he caused were still there, still making their concentric circles, just more slowly and going deeper.
I wished I could get closer to him and wiggled to make sure I was touching him everywhere. He groaned and shuddered at that, and again I was delighted that I had that effect on him.
Now it was his turn to run his fingers along the skin of my back, pressing his fingertips into me, definitely marking me. No one would be able to see it, but I was his and always would be.
“Your skin is so soft,” he murmured next to my ear, his words scalding me. “Are you this soft everywhere?”
“I haven’t done a thorough assessment,” I said.
“I volunteer as tribute,” he said with a grin.
I had just lowered my mouth down to his when I heard a strange noise.
“Ew. Why is everyone in this house making out?” Lindy’s voice came through the room like a shot. I quickly disentangled myself from Marco, and it was like I was ripping off my own skin, leaving pieces of it behind.
I grabbed my glasses as I stood up, feeling uneasy on my feet, and wondered whether I should apologize to his sister.
“I am so traumatized,” she announced. “This is gross. I’m supposed to tell you that dinner’s almost ready.”
“Thanks,” I said breathlessly.
She left the library, and I couldn’t help but reach up to touch my lips. They were so sensitive, and despite my considerable skills as a cosmetic chemist, I doubted that there was any lipstick left.
I didn’t know what to say to Marco, after kind of abandoning all sense as we just had. We’d also been making out a really long time, and I hadn’t realized it. That was probably because whenever he touched me, he made the rest of the world melt away.
“So, I should go and uh, get ready,” I said, hoping that my legs were strong enough to carry me out of the room.
He was the picture of ease—lying there on the couch with his hands tucked behind his head—and the only thing I wanted to do in the whole world was go over and climb back on top of him. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Right. We were sharing a room. A room where we could possibly be alone and lock a door so that no teenage girls would interrupt us.
Although, that would be bad. Not until I told him the truth. I’d tell him tonight. After dinner.
“Okay.” I walked over to the doorway, feeling his eyes on me. “By the way, you lied.”