Reaching around to brush a stray tendril away from her eyes, I cautiously bring my face down and brush my lips across her temple. “There.” I murmur, satisfied, backing away.
“What the… hell?” Cecelia mutters.
I can’t help it. I bust out laughing. “You said you wanted me to kiss you first. Doesn’t’ that satisfy the requirement?”
“You are a jackass,” Cecelia hisses, shoving me hard - but not hard enough to budge me.
I am a fortress of steal.
“Seriously bro? That’s the best you got?” Weston heckles, as if a spectator on the sidelines, while Neve cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Weak! So weak!”
“I’ve about had it up to here with you, Matthew Wakefield,” Cecelia seethes through white, clenched teeth, and tries to break out of my embrace in a huff.
How cute is she when she’s all pissy?
So adorable.
Undaunted, my arms are around her in a vice, hands clasped behind her back. I give her a good yank, slamming her retreating figure into my solid body and plant an open mouth kiss square on her surprised mouth.
Cecelia’s expressive brown eyes widen in shocked desire as my teeth nip at her lower lip before forcing her mouth open with my tongue, and I feel victory when her hands flirt with the waistband of my jeans, tugging the hem off my tee shirt up to slide her hands underneath.
“Asshole,” she hisses, even as her fingertips graze the skin of my abs.
“Shrew,” I counter, a deep rumble coming from my chest.
Then, in an apparent decision to throw all caution to the wind, Cecelia slants her head and locks her full glossy lips against mine, both of us emitting low moans of pleasure and pain and relief that this is finally happening, and, wasting no time, reach down to haul Cecelia up against my groin, squeezing her ass cheeks with both hands before reluctantly settling them at her trim waist. Suddenly we’re making out like it’s our job, sucking face and tonguing each other’s mouths like starving refugees and our lives depend on it.
Music blares above us through pounding speakers; Cecelia’s fingers somehow wind up in my hair, raking through the locks at the base of my neck, and pulling me closer. I oblige, bending slightly at the knees, aligning our pelvises and grinding into her, giving zero fucks that we have an entire audience.
Someone might have yelled “Holy shit that’s turning me on,” while another, “This is better than porn!”
Then, somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hear my sister loudly announce, “I am leaving! I thought I’d be able to handle this, but dear God, I cannot watch. Help! People, my retinas are burning!”
Cecelia
A few things are going through my head as Matthew’s hands cup my ass through the thin rayon shorts I’ve got on, hauling me firmly against the bulge in his jeans, and I can’t stop thinking:
His mouth and hands feel amazing.
His silky tongue feels even better.
Why did we wait so long for this moment?
I wish like hell we were alone.
Pressed against Matthew’s hard, muscular chest, it’s easy to get carried away, despite the room full of people – possibly because of the room full of people. I’ve never been into exhibitionism - or voyeurism for that matter – but make no mistake; I am getting a cheap thrill from being so thoroughly kissed in public.
The music from the speakers blasts into the bar, coupled with all the colliding voices in the room fighting to be heard, creating almost a white noise. The base beat adds to the vibrations already coursing through my loins, and I have to suppress another throaty moan. It wouldn’t be seemly to melt into a mushy puddle at Matthew’s feet in front of my actual “date,” whom I’ve utterly forgotten about.
There are so many people in this bar, Matthew and I are all but forcibly thrust together, the patrons around us forming a solid wall.
We kiss for a few more seconds before I pull my hands out from under his shirt, dizzy from the blood surging through places I didn’t know existed – or that were dormant for too long (I won’t mention where, but the place is downtown in my nether region and starts with a capitol letter V).
I reach out for him once more, craving more of his body heat, running my palms up his bare arms, lightly tracing the ripples of taunt biceps, before someone clears their throat and I snap out of my sexually intoxicated state.
And then - just like in every kissing scene, in every cliché romance novel - after I pull away from Matthew my fingers automatically reach up to touch my lips. They’re swollen and completely void of the Tahitian lip gloss I’d so carefully applied earlier.
It’s safe at this point to declare myself thoroughly and properly kissed.