Golden Trail (The 'Burg #3)(59)

“Layne,” she whispered, her fingers clutching his shoulders.

“Go with it, sweetcheeks, he has a camera,” Layne muttered against her lips, ignored her body going stiff under his, he slanted his head and kissed her again.

Her lips tasted like wine and he liked that taste. The longer he kissed her, even without tongue, the softer they got, the stiffness went out of her body and it melted into his. Because of that, he did something on instinct and it was something stupid. Stupid and dangerous.

He touched his tongue to her lips.

They opened instantly.

Heat flooded his blood and that blood rushed to his cock.

His tongue slid between her lips and the show was over. This kiss was real. It was real and it was f**king great. She tasted good and she kissed not in the hungry way she kissed when they were together. She kissed like in his dreams, giving, her tongue dancing with his, not dueling, her body relaxed under his, their legs tangling. He gave up her lips to taste her neck as one hand went down and under her shirt then up the soft skin of her back, skin he’d wanted to touch since he saw it last night. His other hand went to the band in her hair, tugged it out and then buried itself in her thick, f**king mane and after he did this, her hands did much the same.

He wanted her mouth again, took it and when he did she arched her back, pressing her tits into his chest, her soft h*ps into his hard ones and she moaned against his tongue.

He growled against hers.

Then he took the kiss further, made it deeper, wetter, harder, demanding more from her and she gave it.

He felt her nails drag his back and he groaned into her mouth, his lips sliding down her jaw and her head turned so her mouth was at his ear.

“God,” she breathed, “I forgot how good you tasted. Tobacco.”

At her words, his hand fisted in her hair and he held her head to kiss her again, his other hand moving in, over her ribcage and up, to cup her breast, his thumb rubbing hard against her tight nipple.

Her body jerked, then arched and she whimpered into his mouth.

Fuck but she was hot.

Too hot.

This was not f**king good.

He tore his mouth from hers, pressed his face into her neck and tried to order his thoughts. This was difficult with her breast in his hand, her body under his and her hand trailing his back.

He rolled to the side, partially off her, his hand leaving her breast to move to her waist and he said against her neck, “Rocky.”

Her hand kept moving for a second then froze.

He gave her a minute, giving the same to himself, and her hand slid out from his shirt to disappear entirely, her bandaged hand moving from his hair to rest lightly on his neck. She turned her head away.

He lifted his up. “You okay?”

She was looking at the coffee table but she nodded.

“Roc,” he called and she waited a few beats then righted her head to look at him.

Lips pink and bruised, cheeks flushed but her eyes were blank. He was lying mostly on top of her but she was hiding from him.

He decided to give her that play.

Then he sought to lighten the atmosphere.

“You’re a nut, sweetcheeks. Only you would think cigarettes taste good,” he joked.

“You smoked when we were together, Layne. You were my first kiss, my first everything. I’m conditioned to think they taste good,” she replied, her voice funny in a hard way, he took that shot to the gut and, while he recovered, she slid out from under him.

He got up on a forearm and watched her grab her wineglass and walk into the kitchen. She went to the bottle of wine opened on the counter and poured more in. She took a sip, her back to him, dropped her hand and stayed where she was.

He pulled in a breath, rolled off the couch and went to her.

She didn’t move so he fitted his front into her back and rested a hand on the counter in front of her.

“You gotta put in blinds, sweetcheeks.”

“Yes,” she agreed quietly.

“You also need to text me the number to the management office of this place. They need to send someone to put in sensors on your doors and change the locks. You’ve got vulnerability there.”

He felt her body stiffen in front of him and he put the hand not on the counter to her hip. If someone was still watching, they’d think this was a post-make out session, lover’s conversation.

“Rocky,” he called.

“I’ll text you the number.”

Layne pulled in breath and his fingers at her hip pressed in.

“We gotta talk about what happened on the couch.”

“Not now,” she replied instantly.

“Roc –”

“Not now, Layne, I have papers to grade.”

He dropped his mouth to her ear. “We got lots of shit to discuss, baby. What just happened, last night –”

She cut him off. “I’m not talking about last night.”

“You are. We are.”

She turned to face him and her head tipped back. “I’m not talking about last night, Layne.”

He moved into her, pressing her back into the counter. He took her wine from her hand and put it on the counter. Then he put his hand on her neck.

“The air has to be cleared,” he stated quietly.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“It does, Rocky.”

Her eyes narrowed.