Catch Twenty-Two (Westover Prep 2)

I squeeze my eyes shut as she babbles on about never having a pet because her parents didn’t want to deal with the responsibility.

“It’s hard enough taking care of a daughter,” she says, lowering her voice to no doubt sound like her father.

“City Girl?” I huff.

She doesn’t stop talking about her willingness to have cared for a dog on her own until she’s damned good and ready.

“Frankie,” I snap, doing my best to keep my lip from twitching when she turns her head to look at me.

“What?”

I don’t answer her with words, instead I do what I’ve been wanting to do all damn day.

I shut her up with my mouth, pressing my lips to hers as my hand grips the back of her neck.

I expect her to shove me away, to push against my chest and wipe her mouth off with the back of her hand as she glares at me. I wouldn’t put it past her to spit to get the taste of me out of her mouth.

She doesn’t do any of that.

She squeaks, surprised at my actions and clamps her lips shut. She rejects my kiss like it’s instinctual, refusing to grant me entrance, but I’m not deterred.

Angling my head to the right, I press harder, teasing the seam of her lips with the tip of my tongue, and I can feel it in my bones when she makes up her mind to kiss me back. Her body relaxes, the tension in her muscles floating away as her tiny hand grips the sleeve of my shirt. She isn’t pushing or pulling but anchoring herself to me, and I’m suddenly enthralled with this pretty girl.

The first brush of my tongue over hers when she finally opens for me is a like a cattle prod to my spine, a jolt of electricity so strong it takes everything in me not to pull her onto my lap and take things further than I know she’s willing to go.

My fingers tremble as I tease the back of her neck, my thumb skating over her jawline like she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever put my hands on, and if I’m being honest, she probably is.

“Zeke,” she pants against my lips when I pull back to suck in a sharp breath, blown away with just how perfect her mouth is.

Licking my lips, I revel in the sweet taste of Dr. Pepper still on her tongue from our quick stop earlier, but when I look down at her, finding her staring up at me with stars twinkling in her eyes, I realize I’ve made a mistake.

Kissing her to shut her up didn’t make things better. Hell, no. It only made them a million times worse. Now all I want to do is press my mouth to every available inch of her skin, and all the inches hidden by her clothing. The need I felt earlier is now as heavy as the weight of the world, trying to drag me down a path I know I can’t take with this girl.

Even if she’s looking up at me like she’s willing to give me anything I ask for.

Even if every cell in my body is begging me to take things further.

Even if in the end, giving into my urges means I’m doing exactly what both our families want.

She’s not just some girl wanting another kiss.

She’s a way to control my destiny. She’s a girl meant to trap me, hold me down, and alter the trajectory of my life, but even when I’m low, I still haven’t given up on the possibility of having more for my life than what my parents are offering me. I want more than working cows. I want more than settling down like Joseph and Rebecca, popping out a new kid every year. I want more than backbreaking labor and calloused hands.

“Look at you,” I purr as I trace her cheek with the tip of my index finger.

She’s got the softest skin, porcelain tinted with pink cheeks. She blinks up at me as if she can’t believe I’m real, her stormy gray eyes filled with just as much lust for me as I feel for her.

I almost change my mind when the tip of her sweet, pink tongue roams over her bottom lip. My body definitely is going to hate me.

“Did you like my kiss?” My voice is low and husky, betraying my need for her, but my mind is made up, and I can’t back down now.

“Yes,” she pants, her gaze falling to my mouth like she’s impatiently waiting for me to press it to hers once again.

“You’re half in love with me already.”

She blinks, slow at first, but then her lashes flutter repeatedly against her cheeks, and it makes me wonder if she’s already trying to fight back tears. I don’t really want her to cry. Yet, if she does, I know I’ll want to lick the salt from her skin.