13. Reese

I was joking when I asked Skyler if he wanted to volunteer to be my fuck buddy. It was supposed to be funny because he’s so far out of my league.

A sparrow asking an eagle for a date.

But his reaction was too earnest. And that flash of disgust and pity cut pretty deep.

Turns out, I might have misinterpreted that expression.

If I had more experience with men, maybe I would have recognized that look just before he leaned in to kiss me. I might not have knocked his glasses askew.

I’m shellshocked. Absolutely shellshocked. And not just because this is Skyler Thomas kissing me. Football God. Big brother’s friend.

It’s because this kiss is good.

Something you could get drunk off of.

Just his lips pressing against mine has my head buzzing and my thoughts fluttering in the wind.

I blindly reach up to fix his glasses.

And just because I can, I do what I’ve wanted to do for at least a decade.

I slip my fingers through that thick head of hair.

It’s as soft as I imagined, but heavier.

Thicker.

A quiet moan slips off my tongue without permission and my cheeks catch fire, but that little squeak of a sound seems to break something loose in him.

His big hands slide behind my back and then he’s hauling me onto his lap.

My knees land awkwardly, and I belatedly move to straddle his hips, but he’s already planting his hands on the sides of my face, pulling me into another kiss.

But this time, his tongue slips across my lips.

A sensuous question.

I part my lips and his tongue slides inside. Hey! I knew what to do. My sense of victory is short-lived, because Skyler is giving me the deepest, most thorough kiss of my sex-starved life.

Did Jonah and I kiss? Yeah. On the rare occasion that it included tongue, it was always a brief and stabby affair. And Jonah was usually surly and wracked with guilt afterwards. This is what I was dealing with.

But Skyler’s different. He kisses me like he wants to devour me. His tongue unfurls across mine and it’s possessive and hot and has me lust-fueled, like I’m strapped to a rocket. I should probably be doing something too. Neat tricks with my tongue? But I’m overwhelmed and a little frozen and all I can do is receive. I would like to play it cool. Be sexy and mysterious. Make him work for it. But I am an inexperienced bundle of horny nerves. My flushed skin gives me away. The sounds I’m making give me away. Soft sighs, raspy groans. I’m sure I’ll be mortified later, but at the moment, I’m helpless to stop it.

I don’t think I’d want to, even if I could.

We’re in my brother’s basement. Anybody could come down at any moment. It’s so fucking risky and the stakes are so high. We should stop. We really should. In just a minute.

His hands find my ass and he tugs me closer. There’s a hard length underneath me and I realize with a flash of surprise and a fluttery stomach that I did that. I had that effect on him.

It’s only fair, because he’s got my core so overheated, I might melt down. I roll my hips, feeling his shaft grind against my center, and I’m cursing the fact that denim is so fucking thick. I want it gone. The jeans, the underwear. And I want that hard cock deep inside me. I roll against him again, trying to press him closer and he groans, pained.

I back off, afraid I pushed too hard and hurt him, but his hands find my hips and he anchors me down. When his hips thrust up towards mine, I’m a goner.

It’s a visceral demonstration of what he could be doing to me, and I want him to do that now. Over and over and over.

Could we get caught? At this point, I don’t care.

My fingers slide between our hips, and I start fumbling with his zipper.

His big hand, warm and callused, traps mine. With a raspy groan, he drags my hand away and breaks our kiss. I feel bereft. Like a fish out of water. It takes me a few beats to remember to snap my mouth shut. The look of pure regret on his face is good enough to douse the fire.

He eases me off his lap, gently setting me on the cushion before climbing to his feet. He rubs the back of his neck, looking a bit skittish. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry, Reese.”

“What?”

I’m still warring between smoldering lust and scorching embarrassment. “Why are you sorry?”

He gestures helplessly. “You’ve clearly been drinking.”

I frown, climbing to my feet. “So have you, but I’m not drunk, Skyler. If that’s what you’re insinuating.”

He tilts his head, unconvinced. “Either way, you’re clearly on the rebound and making some irrational decisions.”

“A woman wanting to own her sexuality is irrational?”

He splutters. “And the tattoo.”

“If you don’t like ink, you’re entitled to your opinion. But I like it and I don’t regret it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

I plant my hands on my hips. “Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying…”

He drifts off before picking up the thread again. “I’m saying that maybe you’re a little tipsy and in a vulnerable place. You shouldn’t let assholes like Tyson Kyle, or me for that matter, anywhere near you in this state.”

I take a deep breath through my nostrils, hands curling into fists at my side. “Fuck this, I’m going home.”

“You’re not driving yourself.”

I tip my jaw up.

“How much have you had to drink?”

My cheeks color. In the past hour? I was working on my third drink. I don’t want him to dismiss everything I just told him as drunken ramblings, but he may have a point about driving.

He nods, watching the thoughts play out across my face. “I’m driving you.”

I glare at him. “How much have you had to drink?”

He shakes his head, speaking as he starts up the steps. “Not nearly enough.”