Madly (New York 2)

It wasn’t a surprise when he turned, and she adjusted, and then it was her hands on his neck, his hands on her face, and their mouths together. They bumped noses, chins, but it didn’t feel like the reason was about awkward first kisses. It was urgency. He moved his hands to hold her in place, like he didn’t trust she wouldn’t deepen the kiss too far unless he held her back.

He was right.

Allie had never done the PDA thing. Even the few parties she went to with Matt, where other couples were twisted around each other, tongues rubbing lewdly, he never did more than put his hand on her back. She’d kind of decided, at some point, for some reason, that she wasn’t the PDA type.

Nothing in her body agreed with this assessment. Her body loved PDA. Her body thought about all the people walking by, sneaking a little look at the couple in the grass kissing soft and slow, and she got all vibrating and hot. Her nipples were reaching out, all on their own, to Winston’s chest, and every time she wiggled or he tried to hold her still, there was sparking, intense brushing of those nipples, and then she wiggled even more and he held her even tighter and the kiss got even more hot, but restrained, and one of them would make some private noise of torture, and oh my God.

From now on, she would only kiss in full view of the public, except that she wouldn’t, because she would spend a fortune on underpants and vibrators.

“Hey, Winston?”

She was delighted to see how flustered and red he’d become. She didn’t remember rubbing her fingers through his hair, loosening his tie, or subjecting him to hurricane-force winds, but he looked very much as though all of those things had happened to him since he hauled her tight against him.

Which meant she was the hurricane—a thought that pleased her unduly.

“Hm?” His eyebrows rose with the question at the end of the sound he made, but instead of making him look proper, he looked half mad.

“Want to go back to your place and do nu

mber three?”

“I—” He cleared his throat. “I would. Yes. Very much.”

“Let’s do that, then. Like, right now.”

She stood, surprised by the unseaworthiness of her thighs, the wobble in her step as she picked her way off the grass in her platforms. When he came right up behind her, it took all her mental discipline to keep from turning, winding her arms around his neck, and diving right back into the kiss. She pushed her hand out behind her. He clasped it, his hard palm familiar.

“Which way?”

“Back the way we came, I should think.”

She took two unsteady steps.

“It was the other way,” he said.

“Nope.”

“You’re sure?”

She spun, tumbling into his arms to press her lips against his again, her hands on his chest. “I’m sure. We’re just a minute from where we bought those Popsicles. Text Jean to pick us up.”

He did, and as soon as his eyes were off her, she took her phone from her purse for a quick check, but there was nothing from May.

Nothing from her mom.

Chapter 10

Allie couldn’t think.

She couldn’t think.

She’d tried, but she was too drunk on kissing, completely stoned on Winston’s mouth, lips and tongue and teeth, his body spread out beneath her and the jut of his hip, breathing on her throat, his hands in her hair, over her breasts, over her thighs, over her ass.

She kissed him. She sucked and licked, swept her tongue over the smooth slickness of his teeth, ground herself against whatever part of him, her skirt belled around her and her wet panties branding pinstripes with how much she wanted.

He said her name.

She bit his lip.