Penthouse Prince(40)
After stashing her gift in the dining room, I pour an extra drink and set it on the coffee table, then sit down next to her on the sofa.
And from that moment on, I do not retain a single goddamn thing about this movie. I’m far too painfully aware of the exact distance between us, the occasional faint whiffs of sweet floral shampoo I catch, how her tight leggings show off every curve of her ass and those long legs, and how fucking badly I need to touch her.
“Hey,” she murmurs, her voice like honey. “I dare you to drink every time something blows up.”
I snort. “We playing truth or dare now?”
“No, inventing a drinking game. I’ll do it too.” She raises a challenging brow in my direction.
How can a guy say no to that? “You’re on.”
As if on cue, a car explodes into an inferno. She laughs, and we each knock back a sip.
Long before the movie is over, I realize two very important things. One, that we’ll both probably be dead if we keep this game up. And two, bourbon does fuck-all to distract me from Corrigan’s unfair sex appeal. The stirring in my pants is a testament to that fact.
“Hey, do you want to play truth or dare for real?”
She blinks at me, then laughs. “Is this high school?”
“You can always say no.”
“Hmm . . . sure. Sounds fun.” She rearranges herself on the sofa, this time facing me, one leg tucked under her. “Truth or dare?”
I rub my chin, which by this late hour feels like sandpaper. “I choose . . . truth.”
She punishes me with an exaggerated frown. “Wuss. Okay, let me think.” She considers for a while. “What’s your biggest turn-on?”
Every single thing about you. “It’s a tie between nice legs and dirty talk.”
She gives me a look. “Come on, that’s it?”
“You didn’t ask me to write a novel.” I chuckle. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” she says primly.
“Hey, you can’t criticize me for choosing truth and then choose the same thing.”
Her only response is to stick her tongue out at me. Call me crazy, but even that I find sexy. I can’t help but wonder if I kissed her right now, if she’d taste like bourbon.
Searching for a suitable revenge, I ask, “What’s your most embarrassing moment?”
“That’s easy,” she immediately says. “As a student teacher, I called one kid the wrong name for a month, and when he got up the courage to correct me, I automatically said, ‘Oh shit, I’m so sorry,’ in front of a whole class of first graders and my mentor.”
I offer her a sympathetic smile. “Damn. That does suck.”
“Sarah Jo still makes fun of me for it at least once a week.”
I chuckle and shake my head at her. “My friends in New York would do the same thing.”
She opens her mouth, and for a second I think maybe she’s going to ask me about my friends, about my life in New York, but then her mouth closes and some unreadable expression flickers in her eyes.
The moment passes and her smile fades. “Truth, Lexington . . . Did you love me?”
I swallow hard, my throat bobbing with emotion. “Of course I did.” When she doesn’t respond, but her gaze drops to my lips for the briefest moment, I blurt, “I dare you to kiss me.”
Her gaze jumps up to meet mine. “What?”
“You heard me.” I scoot a little closer. If she refuses, I promise I’ll drop it, stop pushing her, but I can feel it. There’s still something between us, no matter how hard she tries to deny it.
For a second, I’m certain she’s going to say no. But then, with an expression like she’s bungee jumping for the first time, she leans in and touches her lips to mine.
It’s soft. Barely a kiss at all.
But she doesn’t withdraw after a second like I expect. She just . . . lingers, but I don’t dare advance—not yet. Everything in me clamors for more, and when she shifts closer, I finally give in and open to her.
And another miracle happens. Her lips part too.
I eagerly take the invitation to touch my tongue against hers. She lets out the smallest, softest sigh, and if it would have been possible to stop before, I sure as hell can’t now.
Fuck.
Every horny teenage fantasy I ever had about Corrigan rushes to the surface. My arms tighten, pulling her closer toward me. The feel of her soft breasts pressing against my chest drives me insane. I nibble her lip, and she nips back a little harder, and suddenly we’re devouring each other, the kiss devolving all at once into a hot, messy feast of lips and tongue. My body reacts accordingly, growing hot and hard.
Her feel, her taste, her smell, her sounds of pleasure and desire, it all brings decade-old memories and emotions rushing back with the force of a late-summer hurricane. But at the same time, everything is an intoxicating surprise. She’s changed, grown up into a woman, and I’m eager for the experience of learning everything about her all over again.
My hands roam, eager to linger over every detail both familiar and new, every curve, every inch of creamy skin. I run the pad of my thumb down the column of her neck, stopping until I can cup the weight of one breast in my hand. She rewards me with a soft but rough noise that jolts straight down my spine and into my dick.