Hetch (Men OF S.W.A.T #1)(16)

Jesus.

Ignoring his touch makes it harder to stay focused. And staying focused makes it harder to ignore his touch.

Hetch seems unaffected, answering another question Fee asks. All the while his fingers are innocently stroking my thigh, in the most devilish way.

“You okay, Liberty?” Sterling asks me when Hetch’s finger inches closer toward the middle of my legs.

“Ahh, yeah.” I squeeze my thighs together, locking him out. It’s like he teased me into a trance.

Jesus, get it together.

Needing a moment to compose myself, I stand from my chair.

“Excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom.” I find Payton’s eyes, letting her know where I am.

“You okay?” she mouths. I nod once with a reassuring smile and then make my way to the bathroom.

The line to the restroom is short, and after using the toilet, and washing my hands, I take a minute to force some deep breaths into my lungs.

“Keep it together, Lib,” I coax myself through the mirror, trying to talk myself down from the arousal he’s stirred in me. “Do you really want a one-night stand right now?” My body is saying yes, but my head says no. Deciding on an action plan, I take one last look in the mirror, fix my lipstick, tell myself to stay strong, then step out into the hall, only to find Hetch waiting for me.

Shoulders to the wall, hands in the pockets of his deliciously tight jeans, which fit his ass perfectly, he smirks when our eyes collide.

Yep, dangerously perfect.

“Hey, you.” He pushes off the wall, and steps forward, invading my space.

“Ahh, hey, back at ya.” I try to keep some distance, but his overpowering presence makes it hard. I’ve never seen myself as short. I mean five feet seven’s not model tall, but with heels these days, I find I’m around eye level with an average male. Standing in front of Hetch, it’s not the case. The guy has to have a foot on me. Even with my heels.

“You want to get out of here, Liberty?” His face lowers to mine in a slow, measured pace. My mind is screaming at me, reminding me about a certain sabbatical I promised myself, but my body is melting against him, ignoring all rational thought.

“Yeah,” I think I reply, or maybe I sigh. I can’t be sure, nor do I have a chance to figure it out, before the soft touch of his lips find mine and wipe any and all thinking from my capacity. At first, it’s a ghost of a touch, then a little more. Expecting to be consumed with the sweep of his tongue, and anticipating the power of his lips, I’m rather disappointed when, after a modest graze of our lips, he pulls back.

What the hell?

Self-doubt sneaks its way through my subconscious. Self-preservation and maybe shame forces me to take a step back. Hetch doesn’t let me get far. His hands move to either side of my face, forcing me back into his space.

“Been thinking about owning these lips since the second I saw them.” His gaze locks onto my mouth, and his fingers tighten in my hair. “Just didn’t want to rush it.” He’s close, close enough I can breathe in his need and let it sink into my bones. The whole scene is almost too intense. The way he studies my lips, as if he’s committing every small line, every dip to memory. The hardness of his body pressed against mine, imprinting me with his presence, commanding me with his strength. His fingers, tightly wrapped in my hair, hold me hostage while still caressing my need.

“So f*cking perfect.” He drags his hungry gaze from my lips and gives me his eyes. “Almost too perfect.” Before I can ask what he means, his mouth brushes over mine. Once, twice, three times before his tongue dives between my lips and meets mine in hungry need.

I groan at the contact. Hetch hums at the sound, the vibration sparking an intense fire burning through my veins. Eyes open, gazes locked, he continues to own my mouth, my body, like it's never been owned before.

“Fuck me.” He pulls back slightly, his eyes flash with confusion, before flicking back to hunger. Then his lips lock back to mine, diving his tongue back in my mouth and branding me like he owns me.

It’s like being thirsty on a hot day, and downing a bottle of water in twenty seconds. You swallow every last drop, suck every bit of air until you’re out of breath. Only then are you satisfied, fulfilled.

Relieved.

That’s what kissing Hetch is like.

Pressed together, mouth-to-mouth, tongue-to-tongue, I can’t quench my need fast enough. I drink, he drinks, our tongues dance, dueling together, thrusting us forward to drink some more.

Finally, after the need no longer feels desperate, and the want hurts a little less, the kiss slows, and the perfect way his lips found mine in the beginning, becomes the end.

“Jesus, Lib.” The whisper of his tongue tracing my top lip and the way he shortens my name in a hungry need only turns me on more. I don’t know what makes my knees weaker. The kiss or the way my name rolls off his tongue. If I'm honest, it has to be the kiss. I’ve never had a kiss hit me so hard before.

“Yeah.” I open my eyes, not realizing I closed them. Hetch keeps me pressed to his front, but detangles his hands from my hair. His thumb moves to my lips, and in the gentlest way a man’s ever touched me, fixes what I’m assuming is the mess of my red lips.

“Get your shit, tell your girls you’re going home and meet me at the door.” He breaks the connection first, and bosses in a way that doesn’t bring my bitch out. Unable to utter a word, I nod faster than my normal, respectable self would have liked to and let my feet follow through with his order. All previous promises of my sex ban have flown out the window as I make my way back to the table.