As soon as our lips connect, my body collapses against his fully. He supports me by wrapping one arm around my waist, and the other drops to his side. I feel my insides tighten, constricting blood flow to my brain. All I want are his lips. And when his tongue parts them, I moan. His herbal cologne makes me moan. He makes me moan. Sensory overload. I grab a fistful of his hair and pull his body impossibly close with my other hand. He’s warm and hard, and I love everything about it.
His tongue continues to swirl in my mouth, and with every flick, I push myself harder against him. He lowers his hand and cups my ass, and then I cry out as he grinds into me once.
“Finley,” he rasps. “We need to stop. Otherwise, I’m going to fuck you against this wall.”
I’m not sure what to say. Does he expect me to stop because he said that? Doesn’t he understand how much I want this?
“So?” I ask, my voice pleading.
He drops his hands and takes a step back. My heart cracks as he runs his hand through his hair and looks away.
“So?” he answers, glaring at me. “Do you think you deserve a quick fuck against the wall of a bathroom in a dive bar? Is that really what you want? From me?” His voice breaks on the last word.
I whimper. “I want you,” I plead, reaching out for him. Every part of my body is screaming for him.
“But I need you, Finley.”
Amanda Richardson Bio:
Amanda Richardson is an award-winning travel writer turned indie author living in Los Angeles with her husband and two cats. When she's not writing or reading (which, let's be honest, accounts for 95% of her free time), she can be found Googling cheap flights to places she's never been, talking to her cats, or obsessing over the British Royal Family. Fun fact: her first novel is about the Tudors. One day maybe, after a lot of wine, she might find the courage within her to publish it! Find out more here: www.amandarichardsonauthor.com
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