Not that I’m complaining.

It’s given me a whole new appreciation for exercise that I’d never had before.

“I never realized I was into athletic chicks,” he says, dragging his lips away from my mouth and planting slow kisses down my neck. He presses a hand on my stomach, that after a month of intense workouts, shows slight definition. “But damn, I like you like this. Strong and sexy.”

I like him like this, too. Finn Holloway, my life-long crush since he moved in next door when we were four years old. I like the way he kisses me, touches me, reacts to me. His length pressing against the thin fabric of his shorts, against my body, confirms his proclamation.

“Okay,” he says, rubbing his face and creating distance between us. “What’s next? Jump rope, maybe.”

“How is that supposed to help me if I’m in trouble? I can skip away?”

“Stamina, babe.” He walks across the room and lifts the rope off a hook on the wall. “It’s excellent cardio.”

I keep thinking there has to be a better way to increase my cardio—one more fun and a little more naked, but Finn’s a taskmaster in the gym, and I’m the one that asked him to do this. He holds his hand out and I grasp it, letting him pull me off the mat.

“One minute.” He hands me the rope. I get situated, holding the end of the rope in each hand. He looks down at his watch and says, “Annnnd go.”

I’m not the most athletic, but lifting weights doesn’t require many skills. The rope though, I can sense my timing is off. I’m either too fast or too slow, trying to keep my feet and arms at the same pace.

Finn watches me, eyes lingering below my neck. I catch him, and he smiles sheepishly. “Twenty seconds.”

My heart races, threatening to pound out of my chest, and I find myself distracted when he lifts an arm behind his neck—stretching. The move accentuates corded muscles across his body; down his side, his back, his abdomen. My mind wanders, my arms slow, my foot snags the rope, catapulting me forward.

“Oh!” I cry. Finn’s eyes widen, and he lunges toward me. I crash into him, and despite his efforts, we land hard, bodies slammed together.

“You okay?” he asks, holding me against his chest.

“I think so.”

“What the hell happened?”

I swallow, a different heat running to my chest. “I got distracted.”

My heart beats like hummingbird wings against his chest, and his green eyes bore into mine. “I know the feeling.”

That’s the moment we cave, mouths meeting. Adrenaline pumps through me from the exercise, from the fall, and spikes again when he deftly flips us over so that he’s hovering over me and my back is pressed against the mat.

“Can I kiss you?”

I touch his cheek. “Always.”

He kisses down my body, my shoulders, my arms, my stomach. He licks and sucks, laughing when I squirm from being ticklish, his hands holding me down so I can’t escape.

He looks up at me from my belly. “Can I kiss you?”

I laugh. “I already said yes.”

He kisses each hip, slowly, gently, seductively. Tension coils low in my pelvis.

He hooks his fingers in the edge of my tights.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks quietly—intent in those emerald eyes. Realization dawns.

“I’m gross,” I say softly. “Sweaty.”

“I like you sweaty.”

This boy. We haven’t slept together yet, but his need to make me feel good is insatiable.

Tags: Angel Lawson Thistle Cove Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net