Can't Fix Cupid

I startle when he’s suddenly right there, his curved finger tipping up my chin. My breath catches in my throat at our close proximity as my eyes lock onto his. He’s completely crowded my space, our faces so close that I notice little spots of gold in his eyes. I can feel the heat of him, like it wants to wrap around me. The intense masculinity of his entire being tries to encompass my whole world, and I think I’m going to let it.

“You wondered what? Tell me,” he says, and the quiet order from his demanding lips sends a shiver down my spine. His touch moves from beneath my chin until his palm is cupping the back of my neck.

I swallow hard, trying to get my brain to form coherent words, but it’s so hard when he’s touching me like this. I’ve never experienced these sensations, but I don’t need my tingling cupid mark to tell me what it is.

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t—

“I wondered if we could...do this?” I blurt out, and my brain sucker-punches my heart for being such an idiot. “I’m leaving anyway, so you don’t have to worry about me hanging on. I know you don’t do commitment.”

“I don’t,” he admits.

That admission should make me sad, but I’m too wrapped up in the way his thumb is stroking the back of my neck, and the way his legs move so that my knees shift between them.

I convince myself that this is fine. That this solution will work. We’ll just enjoy each other for a little while, have fun.

“So that’s okay,” I tell him shakily, so full of desire that I’m practically trembling.

I want him to kiss me. I want it so badly that I’m sure my eyes are pleading with him. My lips are basically on bended knee. My tongue is ready to kiss his feet and beg for it.

Of its own volition, my hand snakes out, and my fingertips gently run against his delicious stubble. I’ve been dying to do it all morning. His eyes darken, and that electrical charge between us seems to spike.

“You’re leaving, and I can’t commit,” he says quietly, making my eyes follow the movements of his lips.

“Mm-hmm.”

Did I lean in closer, or was that him?

His fingers move up, threading through my hair. His other hand goes to my waist, digging in like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.

“So maybe—”

I interrupt whatever he was going to say by not so gracefully slamming my lips to his.

And...I’ll just say this. Apparently, I need practice.

Stunned, Warren blinks at me for a moment while I totally blowfish all up in his mouth. Even I’m cringing as I stay there, frozen, my mouth half-open like a busted screen door slammed one too many times.

Startled, I rip my mouth away from his, because holy mole on a fat roll, that was bad.

Chapter 21

Trix

I gape at Warren, and I swear to sex, I can feel Sev laughing his ass off at me all the way back in Cupidville.

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand as humiliation pinches my cheeks like an overzealous grandma.

“Oh shit,” I breathe. “I’m a bad kisser.”

He tries to be sneaky about it, but he totally reaches up and wipes my saliva off his chin. I don’t even know how it got all the way down there. The startled look on his face is enough to let me know the truth.

“I am a bad kisser!” I cry, my eyes welling up with tears.

This. This is now the most embarrassing moment of my second life.

“W-What? No,” he says, shaking his head as he tries to reach for me again.

I smack his hands away. “You hesitated.”