Kissing in Cars (Kiss and Make Up #1)(33)

My eyes flutter closed as his tongue licks the side of my neck, his mouth searing my collarbone. He lets out an "Mmmm..." and in my drunk like stupor vow to thank Jenna later for the vanilla flavored body dust.

She would absolutely kill me right now for not playing hard to get... Make him work for it then leave him wanting it, she had told me no less than ten times. And it's hard to forget you're standing on your parents' front porch with lights shining on you when you have the hot breath on your body making you insane for more.

I can't even remember what state we live in.

Weston is inhaling the scent of my almond shampoo while running his fingertips up and down my back, settling them on my sides and flexing his fingers before pressing them into my hips. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

I know he's trying to control himself, but all of his feather-light touching makes me want to drag him into the bushes like a caveman and rip off his clothes.

I'm ten seconds from actually doing it, too.

Tipping my head to give him better access to my neck, our breathing becomes labored as his warm lips trail kisses down the side of my neck. I can't take it anymore: I have waited too long to feel his lips pressed against mine and I'm not waiting a second longer. "Kiss me," I demand almost incoherently under the porch light, tipping my chin up so he can easily find my mouth.

"God you're so f*cking hot," he groans out just before his lips touch mine. His tongue flicks the corner of my mouth before sucking on my bottom lip. I immediately open my mouth and he slides his tongue in, no preamble or dancing around it.

Our kiss is scorching hot and wet and sloppy.

He could droop all over me and I wouldn't care.

Heaven.

Bliss.

It's perfect. He's perfect.

My hands wander up his broad muscular back, and I trail my index fingers up his spine until I reach the collar of his shirt. Instead of running my fingers through his hair, I tease the back of his neck by lightly drawing circles with my nails.

It must be driving him wild, because Weston's hands both grab my ass and pull me firmly against his crotch.

Every cell in every inch of my body is tingling. I am on fire. I wouldn't be surprised if my hair was sticking straight up - I am positively vibrating. I can't get enough of him and I let him know by moaning loudly into his mouth like a wanton trollop. All the values I've ever been taught about acting like a lady fly out the window as Weston mutters my name in response against my lips. Molly...Molly...

In the back recesses of my mind, I hear voices.

Voices I chose to ignore.

That is, until the front door flies open and my brother yanks Weston back by the collar of his shirt and pushes him against the side of the house.

"You little f*cker, get your goddamn hands off my sister." Matt angrily demands. Besides being absolutely humiliated, I can't read the expression on Weston's face but I'm praying that he doesn't take a swing at my brother: these hockey guys love nothing than to beat the shit out of each other, and right now they're sizing each other up... Matt's hands are clenched at his side, and he looks like he wants to punch Weston square between his eyes.

Although to be honest, Weston looks a little 'out of it' and I doubt he'd be of any use in a fight... He looks a little too turned on right now.

Matt turns to me with his hands in the air. "What the f*ck Molly?"

I roll my eyes at him. "Go inside the house, Matt. You are being ridiculous."

"You're out here practically humping this prick on Dad and Mom's porch and you're calling me ridiculous?" His face is flush and slowly begins to match his auburn hair. I always thought Matt was a big guy, but actually now that they're standing side by side, he's no larger than Weston.

Before I can respond Weston cuts in, stepping in front of me in a defensive move. "Okay man, that was totally uncalled for. We might have gotten a little carried away, but-"

Matt cuts him off, spitting mad - almost like he can't believe Weston has the balls to talk to him. "Who the f*ck are you, anyways? Some hockey punk who's probably banging anything with a slit? I'm one of you," he thumps his chest with his fist. "I know how it works, and I don't want you near my sister."

"Jeez Matt, can you watch your mouth? You're such an *." I shove him in the chest before crossing my arms over my chest and glaring at him. It's taking all my willpower not to call into the house for my dad. "You know what Matt? Weston is a really nice guy and as far as I'm aware, you're the only man-whore standing on this porch."

Here's the problem with these hockey players: they have to be very intuitive to be champions at the sport, and I know that even though they're both watching me, they've got their instincts honed in on each other.

"Can I just say something here?" Weston interrupts the evil glares Matt and I are giving each other. I groan.

"This better be damn good," Matt grumbles through clenched teeth.

"It's just... dude. I'm a huge fan."





Chapter Fifteen





WESTON


"My parents said we could be anything we wanted to be when we grew up. So Matthew became an *." - Molly



For a minute, Matthew Wakefield just stares back at me with the same green eyes (albeit angrier) as his sister, the blood rushing back to his face. His shaggy disheveled hair is in his eyes, but even so, just from the way he's looking at me I can tell he's trying to decide if I'm being serious, or if I'm being a sarcastic little prick. A little bit of both actually, but one thing is for sure: two seconds ago he was ready to sucker punch me - I'd bet my left nut on that.