Fake Fiancée(11)

“Won’t deny it. I am Max Kent.”

She blew out a loud breath like this was the last place she wanted to be. Was it just me that bugged her? I was intense and hard to handle—mostly on the field, though.

Don’t be an idiot, Max.

Everything isn’t about you. Put yourself in her shoes. Her car’s just been demolished, she’s braced to see her ex, and a guy she doesn’t know just asked her to put on a show.

“What’s it gonna be?” I asked, tapping my fingers against my thigh, oddly anxious.

“Fine, you can kiss me, but no boob squeezing or crazy stuff.”

I nodded. Fine with me. I could keep it light. Public displays weren’t my thing anyway since I kept my life as private as I could.

But I couldn’t stop myself from teasing her. “Most girls would kill for that, ya know,” I said with a grin.

“I’m not most girls.”

The elevator arrived and we stepped on, thankfully alone. Brushing my hands across her shoulder, I eased her backpack off and set it next to mine on the floor.

“You ready?” I asked, inching into her personal space.

Her chest rose and she nodded.

She was a stranger to me, yet I had no qualms as I touched her neck, tracing the lines of her throat and the shell of her ear. She wasn’t that pumped up pretty like some girls with their makeup and crazy eyebrows; no, she was lovely, with creamy skin and hair the color of straw and cotton mixed together. I dug it.

And that orchestrated kiss idea? A gimmick—partly. I just wanted to kiss her.

She looked at me with big gray eyes and my breath hitched. Gray didn’t do them justice; they were a soft smoky color with pale blue lines that feathered around her pupils like lightning. And her lips? I’d noticed them first thing. They were plump and symmetrical, the sweet indentation on the top calling my fucking name.

I swallowed. “You ready?”

“You already asked me that,” she said a bit breathless.

Oh. Yeah.

Without moving away from her, I pressed the button for the sixth floor.

I leaned down and kissed her. She tasted like honey and sugar, and I wanted more—but not with her standing like an android, hands limp at her side.

I ran my nose up her neck and licked the tiny heart-shaped birthmark on her lobe, making her shiver. “Kiss me, Blondie.”

“Rule number one: don’t call me Blondie. It’s unimaginative, plus it was Bart’s thing.”

“Done.” I cupped her face and took her mouth again, this time more insistent, sweeping my tongue inside to explore her—but Bart’s face loomed in my head. I barely knew him, and the cheating boyfriend story wasn’t a new one in the college scene, but something about the vulnerability in her eyes made me angry.

She brushed her tongue against mine, her hand going to my waist and tugging me closer.

I forgot about Bart.

Shit. I forgot everything.

Heat went all over me.

Our hips gravitated toward each other as if we’d done this before, and what had started out as a first date kind of kiss turned into something else entirely. My hand slid into her hair to get a better angle, deepening the kiss until it was a full on make-out session. I hitched her leg up until it curled around my hips. She moaned, her hands sliding down to squeeze my ass. My skin sizzled, and my cock hardened, ready to—

The elevator door opened on our floor, but our lips stayed fused as my hand kept the door from shutting on us. I wanted everyone to see this. I pressed one more kiss to her swollen lips and eased back. Her gaze was low and heavy. Mine had to be the same. If I had my choice, we’d march out of this elevator, find a corner in a dark classroom, and fuck each other’s brains out.

It was tempting.

But I couldn’t. Not with my neighbor. It was bad to mix pleasure with girls who lived next door. Only an idiot would do that.

She let out a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling. “Don’t . . . do that . . . again.”

“I won’t.” I totally would—hypocrite that I was.

I laced our fingers together and escorted her out of the elevator.

Several people with raised eyebrows watched us as we exited the elevator, cruised down the hall, and entered Dr. Whitt’s class. A couple of guys nodded at me, their eyes following Sunny as we passed. A few sent me appreciative nods.

She’s mine. Keep your hands off.

“Wait.” I got out my phone and pulled her off to the side. “We need a pic to commemorate our one day affair.”

She winced. “I look like I’m ready for bed, and I didn’t even get to straighten my hair—”

How could she not know how lovely she was? “You’re gorgeous, Sunny. Say it.”

“You’re gorgeous, Sunny,” she deadpanned.

“Come on, say it like you mean it.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s not true. I’m a six, maybe a seven when I put on eyeliner, maybe an eight if I use a push-up bra.”

I sent her a grin. “We’re not going to class until you say it.”

“I’m gorgeous,” she snapped. “Happy?”

“Yep. Now smile.” I held the phone up for a selfie, licked her on the cheek and snapped the pic. Boom. “Once I lick you, you’re mine,” I said softly.