A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime (Lancaster Prep )(61)

“I figured you’d like them. They’re art. From hundreds of years ago.” I stop directly behind her, inhaling her scent. Tempted to reach out and grab her hair. Curl it around my fist and pull her in for a drugging kiss.

“You’re right. They are art, but they’re also sad. Those statues all look like they want to fling themselves over a cliff and die a horrible death.”

A chuckle leaves me, yet she still doesn’t move. She has to know I’m right behind her. “That’s the Lancaster family for you. We’re all this close to flinging ourselves off of a building, eager to plunge to a blissful death.”

“You Lancasters are moody.” Wren rests her hand on the glass, a hiss leaving her when she touches it. “It’s so cold.”

“It’s even colder outside.”

“I’m not dressed right to go back out into that.”

“Me either.” I take another step forward, so close my front presses gently against her back. “The view’s pretty, don’t you think?”

I’m not talking about the gardens, though they’re exactly that, especially with the snow falling. A perfect early winter scene.

No, I’m talking about Wren. She’s so fucking beautiful. Sweet. Interesting. It sort of blows my mind, how much I enjoy talking to her. Spending time with her.

“It is,” she admits, her voice soft. She bends her head forward, her hair falling across her face, and I reach out, brushing it aside to expose her neck. “What are you doing?”

“Distracting you,” I whisper, bending down to press my mouth on the back of her neck. “I know you appreciate pretty things. I wanted to show you a view you’ve never seen before.”

She’s quiet, though I can feel her body trembling. And I don’t think it’s from the cold windows either.

I kiss her in the same spot again, my fingers tangling in her hair. She lifts her other hand, both of them now braced on the glass, and I subtly nudge her body with mine, until she’s fully pressed against it.

And me.

She inhales sharply.

“Too cold?” I ask her, the words murmured on her skin.

“Yes,” she whispers. “But you’re warm.”

Resting one hand on her waist, I touch her cheek with the other, angling her head so she has no choice but to look up at me. “Don’t push me away, Birdy.”

I see the moment she gives in, how it flickers in her gaze, and she removes her hands from the window, turning so she’s fully facing me. “Crew…”

I kiss her before she can protest, or tell me to stop. And she doesn’t say anything after that. She gives in completely, her hands coming up to wind around my neck, her entire body leaning into me. Those plump tits press into my chest, and I race my hand up her side, my thumb drifting across her breast. She parts her lips to gasp, allowing my tongue entry, and a low groan leaves me as I deepen the kiss.

“What if someone sees us?” she whispers against my mouth.

I nip at her lower lip, making her whimper. “No one can see us. I promise.”

Opening my eyes, I stare out the windows, but there’s no one there. The snow is starting to come down harder, the light dimming in the cavernous room, thanks to the darkening sky, and I cup her cheek, tilting her head back, so I can devour her.

Our kisses soon turn into tongues and teeth and nibbling lips and panting breaths. Her hands slip beneath my uniform jacket, sliding down my back, and I press my hips against hers, letting her feel what she’s doing to me.

Wren breaks the kiss first, and I open my eyes to find her staring at me, her chest rising and falling against mine, her breaths quick. “We probably shouldn’t do this.”

“Why not?” I kiss her neck, licking a path to her ear with my tongue. She tilts her head, her eyes falling shut, her expression tortured. “I know you like it, Birdy.”

“Kissing leads to…other things. Things I’m not ready for.”

“You so sure about that?”

She swallows hard when I nibble her jaw. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me when to stop then.” Ah, I make it sound so easy, but I want this girl to forget herself and get carried away.

With me.

Because she needs it. Because she wants it.

Just like I want her.





TWENTY-FOUR





WREN





I’m plastered against the cold glass, a warm Crew pressing against me, his hard—yes, he’s actually hard—body so close to mine, I don’t think you could slip a piece of paper between us. His words are on repeat in my brain.

Tell me when to stop then.

He makes it sound so simple, when it’s not. I’m finally starting to understand why girls give in so easily to this— to sex. It feels so good, his mouth. His hungry kisses. His tongue. How it tangles with mine. His hands on my body. His rapidly beating heart and accelerated breathing, and those low humming noises he makes when he kisses me. As if I’m the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

It's heady stuff. I can feel that newly familiar pulsing between my thighs. The wetness growing there. The dull ache forming, and every bit of it, he’s responsible for.

I think he’s the only one who can ease the ache.