Unspoken Rules (Rules 2)

In a heartbeat, he closes the distance between us and crashes his lips against mine. I automatically kiss him back, my pulse quickening. When his fingers wander to my hair and he pulls my head forward to deepen the kiss, I swear I can hear my heart explode. I can’t find it in myself to think about anything but his mouth moving in synchronization with mine when we embark on a dance we’ve been craving for longer than we can bear.

What if I actually died right there? What if my poor heart couldn’t handle Haze Adams? Winter Kingston, died from kissing the guy she’d been crushing on. Rest in peace, idiot.

In moments like this, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched.

I recognize the urgency from the day we made out at the motel, but this feels like more than just “making out.” It feels like a step toward something else… something inevitable.

When we pull away for air, he brings his lips to my earlobe.

“Want to take this upstairs?” His voice is raspy, thick.

I swallow the pit in my throat, the desire in my lower stomach agreeing with him while my head is screaming to escape before it’s too late.

He reaches for my finger and pulls on my hand, leading me to the staircase. When we go up the stairs in complete darkness, I almost trip—because I wouldn’t be me if shit like that didn’t happen in the worst moments possible—and he catches me before I hit the ground. He laughs at my clumsiness, and this simple incident calms my racing thoughts.

This is still Haze.

He’s still the guy who can make you laugh until your stomach hurts. He’s still the guy you spent fifteen minutes arguing about Grease with. You are friends.

It isn’t long until my back hits the queen mattress and Haze kicks the door shut. He gets on top of me, his toned body calling my name, and places one arm on each side of my head to hold himself up.

His mouth finds mine again, but this time, his tongue pries its way in between my lips and I can’t believe I wasted so much time being afraid. Here we are, kissing in the dark, in the middle of a storm, in a town nobody knows about to escape people potentially trying to kill me, and I’ve never felt more alive.

His kisses are eager, hungry. It isn’t long until the clothes are peeled off his skin and he’s in nothing but his boxers. He tugs at my dress straps, letting them cascade down my shoulders, and slowly kisses my stomach as he pulls the ti

ght black dress all the way down to my feet. I want to feel his mouth everywhere, and when I say everywhere, I mean everywhere.

He throws my dress across the room and stares at my uncovered body. Strangely, I don’t feel exposed. The look in his eyes makes me feel confident.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he exhales and leans forward to kiss me. He gradually descends to my neck.

Neck kisses… man, I am not responsible for what happens if you kiss my neck.

He sucks on the skin above my collarbone, and it’s enough to make my thoughts blurry. Then, he pulls away, stares at my neck like he’s admiring his work of art, and grins. I know that grin. It’s the “I did something and you’re going to be pissed” grin.

“You didn’t.” I catch up right away and bring my hand to my neck as if I will somehow fix the damage he did.

He beams as an answer.

I’m going to kill him.

I’m about to scold him when he places a hand on my stomach and slowly works his way down to my panties. I press my lips into a thin line, and his smile grows wider. He knows how to shut me up, and he likes that.

His hands are warm, but my skin is so hot they almost feel cold. He stops just under my belly button and glances at me. He’s waiting for me to say yes. I know he won’t make another move until he has my approval. I pull his face to mine and kiss him again, whispering a quiet yes against his lips.

Without breaking the kiss, he crosses the line we won’t be able to cross back.

He slides his hand under the light fabric of my underwear, and his fingers connect with a spot I haven’t let anyone touch in a really long time.

I tense up at the contact. He feels it and stills his hand, leaving it exactly where it is for a few seconds. He pulls away, his eyes searching for mine, and stares at me for a short moment as if to make sure that I’m ready to really listen.

“Just one word, Winter. Say it and I’ll stop.”

His sentence makes me feel better. Not because I expected anything less, but because having him say it to me makes me feel respected, comfortable. This, right here, is how we should always feel in a moment like this.

He starts moving again. Every muscle in my body relaxes all at once when he starts rotating his fingers exactly where he should.

Okay. Wow.