A Kiss Like This (Kiss and Make Up #3)(41)

Cupping her face in my large palm, I close the gap between us, lean in, and press my full lips against her trembling mouth.

The taste of her mouth is possibly the sweetest f*cking thing I’ve tasted on Earth—this gorgeous girl with her pretty mouth muttering my name on a sigh in the dark.

The sweetest. Fucking. Flavor.

“Caleb,” she murmurs quietly when I trail my index finger along the side of her neck, brushing her silky hair aside and whispering kisses down her jaw to that delicate spot just behind her ear.

Abby’s fingertips tentatively trail along my stomach before flattening her palms against my skin—giving me goose bumps—sliding them over my fit torso, cupping the pec muscles I work so hard to maintain, as if weighing them and revering their strength. I cover her hand with my free one as her fingers roam, encouraging the exploration, and moan when her index finger traces a circle around my nipple.

“Abby.”

I shiver, needing this girl, and tilt my mouth as she opens hers farther, our tongues cautiously, finally, introducing themselves.

I could kiss this girl for hours—and that’s exactly what I do.

I found what I’ve been looking for, and I didn’t even know it was missing.

We kiss—just kiss—until our lips are chapped and we couldn’t possibly get our tongues any further down each other’s throats.

We kiss until we’re tired and those kisses are nothing but whispers and sighs and breath across each other’s lips.

We kiss until we’re wrapped in each other’s arms, Abby’s back to my front, her lips pressed against the thick bicep she’s resting her head on.

I sigh, content, and run my hand down her hip before slipping into a dream.





CHAPTER 18

Abby

It’s like déjà vu, only this time, we’re alone and the door is locked.

My eyes open slowly, adjusting to the sun that’s flooding the bedroom with a brilliant morning light, and blink. Caleb peers down at me, chin propped on his palm, watching as I give him my first smile of the day. He dips his head then and kisses my sleepy mouth, letting his lips linger there.

I raise my hand and run it along the whiskers of his face, my fingers stopping at his full bottom lip. Immobile as stone, he waits, anticipating my next move. I can see the anticipation building in his dark, stormy eyes, but rather than the typical brooding, I see nothing but desire.

“Morning,” he whispers, his lips moving to my ear, flicking the outer lobe with his tongue.

With the tip of my finger, I trace his mouth, letting the tip remain at the crest above the bow, and whisper, “Let me see it.”

He knows instantly what I mean: his gap.

Caleb’s brows raise, and his shaggy hair gets a little shake.

“Please,” I sulk. When he just looks back at me uncertainly, I add, “You can’t hide it from me forever.”

But I can try. I can see him thinking it so hard it’s almost out loud.

“Fine, be that way.” Rolling to my side, I face him, giving myself permission to cast my eyes downward to his mesh shorts and openly ogle his groin; the shorts do very little to conceal his erection.

Lazily, still too tired to be embarrassed by my bold actions, I trace his chest, flattening my palm on the hard planes of his abs and firm hips. There is barely an ounce of fat on this guy, which, to be honest, isn’t necessarily a selling point.

In fact, I’ve always made it a point to stay away from guys who are in better shape than me. Call me crazy, but it makes me feel more self-conscious than I already am when a guy is ripped with a six-pack. A guy who spends all his time at the gym.

I know it’s stereotyping, but those are the guys who will probably judge me later when they see me stuff my face with snacks and ice cream.

And I couldn’t handle that kind of pressure, dating someone with the perfect physique when mine is anything but.

Not that I’m complaining!

Because Caleb’s body… Caleb’s body is a masterpiece that I couldn’t possibly begrudge or envy. I’m proud of him for it.

“I’m… n-not wearing underwear,” I announce. “It’s too bad you won’t show me your sexy gap.”

“I’m not going to barter with you,” he replies stubbornly. But his intrigued eyes give him away, and his hawk like gaze shoots down to my shorts, searching so intently for panty lines they’re likely to catch fire. “This isn’t an arbitration.”

“What are you, a business major?” I reach over and play with a thick strand of his hair.

“No. Pre-law.”

“Wow, how did I not know that?”

He shrugs. “I have to do something when I graduate.”

“I just assumed, you know, the hockey thing…”

He gives me a nudge, and I’m quickly flipped onto my back again. “No. When I graduate, I’m done. I’m only playing to pay for school.” He hesitates. “Would that bother you? That I don’t want to play pro?”

Would that bother me… if what? If we dated? If he was my boyfriend? If we were in a relationship? I want to ask him for clarification, but I don’t.

“No, I think it’s incredible that you want to do something else. That you have the courage to do it,” I whisper as he leans over, braced up on his arm, studying me. With him this close, I take the opportunity to study him back, beginning with his eyes: the darkest chocolate brown eyes that I’ve ever seen, with the tiniest flecks of hazel and thick, sooty lashes.