Langston walks out the door, and then it slams shut.
I stand frozen—pretending I’m in shock. I am, but not because Langston threatened my life. In fact, he offered to give me more time if I told him the truth. He gave me a chance to save my life if only I answered one question.
The only problem is that I don’t know the answer because I don’t know the question. I don’t know what specific truth matters above all others. The one that matters beyond the secrets only I know from the ripped paper.
None of that is the reason I’m in shock.
That fucking kiss.
Waylon runs over to me and consumes me in his muscular arms, yanking me against his hard chest.
“Shh, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. I won’t let that man or anyone hurt you,” Waylon says.
I should feel safe with his ar
ms around me. His thick chest is as protective as any armor. His soothing voice normally eases my tensions.
Instead, I feel rattled. My body trembles, and I feel empty.
My brain is trying to process Waylon’s words. I’m trying to come up with a plan to explain Langston to Waylon. To figure out how to defeat Langston while keeping myself and Waylon safe.
But.
That.
Kiss.
I planned it, knowing that it would knock Langston off balance. It would bring him in close and help me set a trap where Waylon would find us close.
But I was the one knocked askew as soon as our lips touched. The spark at our touch took hold of every nerve ending and brain cell in my body. The entire time he was kissing me, I forgot about my plan. I forgot that Langston is the enemy.
“You’re trembling. It’s okay, baby. Try to take a deep breath. You’re safe,” Waylon says.
He doesn’t realize that I’m not safe. I’m never safe.
I take a deep breath—trying to shake the sparks still shooting off my body. My adrenaline is up, which is probably why I’m shaking. I crave more kisses, more of his touch, just more.
I won. I won’t let the memories of Langston take the victory from me. He doesn’t get to win by taking my thoughts, my cravings, my body.
I grip onto Waylon’s forearms while I lean back, looking into his eyes.
He smiles down at me sweetly. He really is a sweet, kindhearted man. He’s what I need, not Langston.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. I meant to speak stronger, more assertively, but I’m too shaken up. As much as I want to get rid of Langston’s touch, I also want to wallow in it, no matter how much pain it will eventually bring me. I don’t want to forget Langston’s kiss, but I need to.
Waylon, who can never deny me, leans down and plants the softest kiss, barely brushing his lips against mine. That won’t be enough to wipe Langston from my memory.
I reach up, grabbing onto his sculpted neck and parting his lips with my tongue, pushing deep inside his mouth, begging for him to kiss me with all of his passion.
Waylon takes the hint. He’s so perceptive, always listening to the little clues I give him.
He pushes me back until my ass is against the counter. His hands grip my hips firmly but not in a controlling way. His thick, hard muscles push against me until I feel his cock pressing against my stomach. His tongue sweeps in my mouth, commanding my attention as it dances over mine.
I should feel that all-consuming, heart-stopping, breathless emotion. That emotion one step below love or, at the very least, deep lust.
This kiss is barely getting my heart thumping, though. My body didn’t come alive. The spark didn’t fan into flames. And worst of all, it didn’t wipe any memory of Langston’s kiss from my brain, my body, my heart.
Langston is just a good kisser. That’s all it is.