I know he’s trying to control himself, but all of his feather-light touching makes me want to drag him into the bushes like a caveman and rip off his clothes.
I’m ten seconds from actually doing it, too.
Tipping my head to give him better access to my neck, our breathing becomes labored as his warm lips trail kisses down the side of my neck. I can’t take it anymore. I have waited too long to feel his lips pressed against mine, and I’m not waiting a second longer. “Kiss me,” I demand almost incoherently under the porch light, tipping my chin up so he can easily find my mouth.
“God, you’re so fucking hot,” he groans out just before his lips touch mine. His tongue flicks the corner of my mouth before sucking on my bottom lip. I immediately open my mouth, and he slides his tongue in, no preamble or dancing around it.
Our kiss is scorching hot and wet and sloppy.
He could drool all over me and I wouldn’t care.
Heaven.
Bliss.
It’s perfect. He’s perfect.
My hands wander up his broad muscular back, and I trail my index fingers up his spine until I reach the collar of his shirt. Instead of running my fingers through his hair, I tease the back of his neck by lightly drawing circles with my nails.
It must be driving him wild, because Weston’s hands both grab my ass and pull me firmly against his crotch.
Every cell in every inch of my body is tingling. I am on fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if my hair was sticking straight up. I am positively vibrating. I can’t get enough of him, and I let him know by moaning loudly into his mouth like a wanton trollop. All the values I’ve ever been taught about acting like a lady fly out the window as Weston mutters my name in response against my lips. Molly…Molly…
In the back recesses of my mind, I hear voices.
Voices I choose to ignore.
That is, until the front door flies open and my brother yanks Weston back by the collar of his shirt and pushes him against the side of the house.
“You little fucker, get your goddamn hands off my sister,” Matt angrily demands. Besides being absolutely humiliated, I can’t read the expression on Weston’s face, but I’m praying he doesn’t take a swing at my brother. These hockey guys love nothing more than to beat the shit out of each other, and right now they’re sizing each other up. Matt’s hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks like he wants to punch Weston square between his eyes.
Although, to be honest, Weston looks a little out of it, and I doubt he’d be of any use in a fight. He looks a little too turned on right now.
Matt turns to me with his hands in the air. “What the fuck, Molly?”
I roll my eyes at him. “Go inside the house, Matt. You are being ridiculous.”
“You’re out here practically humping this prick on Dad and Mom’s porch, and you’re calling me ridiculous?” His face is flush and it slowly begins to match his auburn hair. I always thought Matt was a big guy, but actually, now that they’re standing side by side, he’s no larger than Weston.
Before I can respond, Weston cuts in, stepping in front of me in a defensive move. “Okay man, that was totally uncalled for. We might have gotten a little carried away, but—”
Matt cuts him off, spitting mad, almost like he can’t believe Weston has the balls to talk to him. “Who the fuck are you, anyway? Some hockey punk who’s probably banging anything with a slit? I’m one of you.” He thumps his chest with his fist. “I know how it works, and I don’t want you near my sister.”
“Jeez, Matt, can you watch your mouth? You’re such an asshole.” I shove him in the chest before crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. It’s taking all my willpower not to call into the house for my dad. “You know what, Matt? Weston is a really nice guy, and as far as I’m aware, you’re the only man-whore standing on this porch.”
Here’s the problem with these hockey players: they have to be very intuitive to be champions at the sport, and I know that even though they’re both watching me, they’ve got their instincts homed in on each other.
“Can I just say something here?” Weston interrupts the evil glares Matt and I are giving each other. I groan.
“This better be damn good,” Matt grumbles through clenched teeth.
“It’s just…dude, I’m a huge fan.”
CHAPTER 15
WESTON
“My parents said we could be anything we wanted to be when we grew up, so Matthew became an asshole.”
– Molly
For a minute, Matthew Wakefield just stares back at me with the same green, albeit angrier eyes as his sister, the blood rushing back to his face. His shaggy, disheveled hair is in his face, but even so, just from the way he’s looking at me, I can tell he’s trying to decide if I’m being serious or if I’m being a sarcastic little prick. It’s a little bit of both, actually, but one thing is for sure: two seconds ago he was ready to sucker punch me—I’d bet my left nut on that—and now he seems to at least be hesitating.