Saylor

“If I kiss you now, we won’t make it home.”

His breath is warm and smells like peppermint. He must’ve snuck a mint after our drinks. It makes my mouth water. “Is that a promise?”

“Yes.”

“Your restraint is that brittle?”

“You have no idea––”

I cut him off with a kiss that’s warm and sweet––almost innocent––but enough to finally push Owen over the edge. Like a rubber band that’s been pulled too tight, he snaps and tangles his hands into my hair, holding me in place as his tongue pumps in and out of my mouth, jumping right past the sweet and innocent I’d created and replaces it with something almost indecent, yet more addictive than anything I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.

With a soft moan, I clutch at his forearms and suck on his tongue before he retreats, giving me a second to breathe. But who needs air when I have Owen Daniels? My teeth dig into his lower lip, silently begging him to stick around and keep torturing me with his mouth. My bite pulls a deep groan from him before the cold shell of the car presses into my back as Owen pushes me into it with more force. All I can feel, taste, touch, and smell is him. But it’s a familiar medley that’s even more consuming than I remember, putting our first kiss on his couch to shame. Hooking my fingers into his belt loops, I tug him closer until the heat from his torso warms me from head to toe and pins me in place.

“You’re playing with fire, Saylor,” he warns me.

“We’ve done it

in a car before,” I remind him. “Or are you too city for that too?”

A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest as he cups my cheek and brushes a few stray strands of hair out of my face. “You deserve a bed.”

“Beds are overrated.”

“You deserve to be worshiped.”

“You know how to worship me better than anyone.”

“Limited space makes that difficult.”

“I believe in you.”

He scans the empty parking lot, then grinds into me as if concluding that my idea isn’t as ridiculous as he’d initially decided.

“You really wanna do it here?”

I nod and pull him closer, but he dodges my kiss and smirks. “Like a couple of teenagers?”

“Isn’t that what we do best?”

His laugh is light and easy, but his fingers dig into my sides with a need that’s sexy as hell.

“On one condition,” he decides.

“And what’s that?”

“You stay at my place tonight so we can compare locations.”

My laugh rings out through the empty parking lot as I tug on the lapel of his coat to bring him closer to me. His mouth is ready and needy, swallowing my amusement and transforming it into a desperation that leaves me whimpering when he pulls away a few seconds later.

“Do we have a deal?” he murmurs, trailing kisses down my neck.

Unable to find my voice, or even think straight for that matter, I nod.

“Good girl.”

I’m right. Even though we’re both way too big to fit into the back of my car, there’s something real and raw about finally giving in to the magnetic connection we’ve been fighting for too long.

But the bastard is right too. Because a bed is so much better than the back of a car, regardless of how horny a couple of not-teenagers can be. There’s space. And freedom to move. And opportunities to worship each other the way we deserve.