The Dating Experiment (The Experiment, #2)(35)

“And you act like you hate me, but I don’t believe you.” He stepped toward me. “If you hated me, you’d have kicked me out by now. You wouldn’t even be thinking about listening to me. Trust me—you don’t listen to me any other time, so the only reason you are right now is because you want to.”

“No.” I stared at him. “I’m listening to you because you keep saying you want me, but I’m wondering when you’re going to prove it.”

He stilled, tilting his head a little. “What?”

I threw my arms out, my stomach twisting into knots. “You’re standing in front of me telling me how you want me, yet that’s all you’re doing. And you wonder why I don’t believe you?”

“What are you saying?”

“Kiss me, idiot!”

Dom’s lips parted, and his brows drew together into a frown. “What?”

“I can’t make it much simpler. If you want me as much as you say you do, then kiss me, you goddamn idiot!”

Time stood still as he stayed where he was, staring at me. My skin prickled in anticipation.

Was he all talk?

Would he do it?

I knew I’d let him. Even if it never happened again, I needed the validation of a second kiss. To make sure I wasn’t glorifying how amazing it was the first time around.

To make sure that my memory of the first one was real and not something I’d accidentally cooked up when I should have been working.

“Well?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. “Are you gonna? Either kiss me or get the hell out of my house.”

He stalked toward me, expression unreadable, muscles visibly tensed. The veins in his forearms stood out, snaking down the insides of his arms, and one fist was clenched tight if the whiteness of his knuckles was anything to go by.

“Fine. Don’t. Then you can leave. I’m not going to stand here and be confused by you. If I want to be confused, I’ll reminisce about high school!” I snapped.

“I’m not hesitating because I don’t want to,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m hesitating because I want you so much that if I kiss you, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“Did I say I wanted you to?”

“Don’t fuck with me right now, Chlo.”

“Then get the hell out, because you’re fucking with me. Either kiss me or don’t. But if you walk out now and don’t kiss me, you’ll never get another chance; I promise you that.”

As if those words flicked a switch inside him, he reached out, clenched fist slowly moving toward my face. His hand unfurled, the backs of his fingers stroking lightly across my cheek. His eyes followed the slow movement of his hand, and only when the tips of his fingers ghosted along the curve of my jaw, making me shiver, did he lift his gaze to meet mine once again.

This wasn’t heated.

This look, this connection, didn’t feel as though we’d just been screaming at each other. It felt real, like there really was something hiding beneath the anger and frustration we exercised on a daily basis.

This wasn’t how I’d ever planned it to be, but I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t clear the lump in my throat or stop the goosebumps that tickled across my skin as I waited.

For what?

For anything.

For him to move. To touch me again. To say something. To do something.

It felt like…

It felt like he meant it. Like this stupidly long moment where neither of us could move or speak felt like the validation I wanted.

That he wanted me.

It was the confirmation that he wasn’t lying. That he meant it when he said that if he kissed me right now, he was afraid he couldn’t stop. That I meant it; that I didn’t want him to stop.

If that was what it took, if losing myself to him one time meant that I got to feel his lips on mine one more time, I’d do it.

I’d do it a thousand times, over and over, pressing rewind each and every single time.

I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to run my fingertips over the dark stubble that lined his jaw and chin, the very same stubble that made every curve of his lips ten times sexier than it ever had any right to be.

I wanted to close my eyes and breathe him in. Slide my fingers through his hair. Grab his t-shirt. Tear it off. Ease my hands over his body.

I wanted him.

And knowing he wanted me?

It made me do stupid things. Made me want to do stupid things.

His hand, now cupping my jaw, was hot. His fingers burned my skin, and his palm emanated warmth that I felt everywhere. I covered his hand with mine, gingerly moving to link my fingers through his.

Dom dropped his eyes to our hands for a brief second, but they met mine again when I touched my other hand to the side of his face. His stubble was short and rough, scratching against my palm in a way that was almost weirdly satisfying.

If I were a cat, I’d spend all day rubbing my palm against his jaw.

And that was the weirdest part.

“Chlo…”

I cut him off with a shake of my head. I didn’t want him to speak. I wanted him to act. I wanted to know that he wanted me. I wanted to feel it deep down inside my bones. I wanted to know, unconditionally and irrevocably, that he wasn’t here bullshitting me into next week.

So, I leaned forward, closing my eyes, and kissed him.