Don't Kiss the Bride

But not this.

I don’t even know what the hell this is. This breathless, aching, long-lost lover feeling.

How the hell can an eighteen-year-old girl wearing crazy pajamas make me feel like this?

But now that I’ve felt it, it’s too much like that all-too-familiar euphoria in my veins that the addict inside me remembers vividly. It’s the same kind of high—the kind I don’t want to come down from. I want a little more. A little longer. I want to tease it and tempt it. Find out how good it can feel if I lose myself in it.

This is not cool.

When the end credits for the show start to roll, I quietly reach behind me and grab her hands in each of mine, pulling her arms around my waist. Clasping our hands together over my stomach, I gently lean back against her. Her small breasts press against my back as she breathes. Her heartbeat thumps against me like a ticking clock.

I struggle with all the lessons I’ve learned to make good choices. Like how bad is a master at wearing the mask of good and not to fall for it.

“I think this stopped being a back rub a while ago,” I say softly, rubbing my thumb over her hand in mine.

“I think you’re right,” she whispers.

“It’s late. I think we’re over-tired.”

“I think you’re right,” she repeats. Her breath is warm and wispy against my ear. “I should probably go to bed.”

“Me too.”

Neither one of us makes an effort to move. We stay there, quietly breathing together. Our entwined fingers slowly dance against each other. Hers long, soft and thin. Mine thick and calloused.

Resistance crumbles, and I turn toward her face, just inches from mine.

I don’t know who kissed who. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was her.

Doesn’t matter, because my mouth is on hers when it shouldn’t be. But fuck, her lips are soft and sweet, and I can’t resist one more taste of her.

And that’s all this is. One more time.

The last time.

There’s always a last time when quitting something. A final moment to savor.

Our lips touch softly, fading apart every few seconds and then meeting again for another quick kiss. And another. And another. Finally, I lift my hand to cup her cheek in my palm and the little moan that hums in her throat tells me she wants more just as much as I do. Tilting my mouth to cover hers, I edge my tongue past her teeth—subtly asking for permission. Her mouth opens to mine breathlessly. Our tongues touch, swirling together, and I swear to fuck I see fireworks. I move my hand to cup the back of her neck, pulling her closer, kissing her deeper. Her hand slowly inches up the middle of my bare chest to gently grasp the side of my throat, mimicking my own touch.

Her thighs tighten around me and I grab her leg with my free hand, bringing it higher around my waist.

Fuck, I want her.

And fuck, she wants me.

But I can’t.

Reluctantly, I pull away, quietly disentangle myself from her, and stand up.

She blinks at me, her lips slightly parted, glistening with wetness from our kiss.

Way too tempting.

If I go any further, I won’t stop.

Handing me my shirt, she watches as I put it on, then we silently go upstairs. We pause in front of her bedroom door, and she looks at me expectantly with her big eyes and her sweet lips.

“That’s the last time that’s gonna happen,” I say. “I’m not going to kiss you anymore. It’s not cool. We’re friends and I don’t want to wreck that.”

“Okay, Lucky,” she whispers, then goes up on her toes and presses her lips softly, briefly, against mine.

I don’t pull away. I stand there, just inches away from her. Close enough to kiss her again. “What are you doing, Sparkles?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t kiss you one last time.”

Nope. I’m not going fall into the playful banter, which I usually love. I’m way too close to the flame. Not to mention, way too close to her bedroom.

I shake my head. “I’m saying it now. No more kissing each other. Or touching.” My cock strains against my pants in protest. My chest tightens.

“Okay.” She nods, her eyes still locked onto mine.

She says it like she doesn’t quite believe me.

As I turn away from her to go to my own room, I don’t believe me either.

Chapter 25

Skylar

“How was your weekend?” Megan asks as we head onto the high school track field. “I didn’t hear from you after you jumped ship on our double date.” Every Monday we spend our time in PE talking about our weekends. It doesn’t matter if we saw each other or not—we still do a recap.

“I didn’t jump ship. I never agreed to let you set me up with Carson.” The cold bite in the air stings my face. Starting next week, we won’t be outside for PE anymore and that can’t come fast enough for me.