America's Geekheart (Bro Code #2)(73)

“Yep.” His voice is softer, but also deeper. “Sounds like we need to keep talking about kissing.”

“My best friend is totally setting us up.”

“She clearly has awesome taste in men. And since it means I get to keep talking to you about how delicious your lips are, I’ll take this little gift from the universe and go with it. And your lips are delicious.”

“It was the onion rings.”

He chuckles softly. “No, Sarah. It’s you.”

“You weren’t half-bad,” I tell him, even though the truth is that he was amazing. I know what actually dating dating Beck would mean for my future—and my relative privacy—but that part of me terrified of having my life torn apart is doing the talking for me again. I clear my throat and try again. “I mean, you were at least seventy percent of the way to giving me an orgasm just from kissing me.”

“If we were alone, I’d kiss you from head to toe, and I’d learn all your favorite spots, and I’d pretend like I didn’t know what you meant when you told me to go lower, or harder, or faster, just so I could build all the anticipation until I finally hit all your magic buttons,” he says, his voice low and husky and making my skin tingle all over.

I toe the bathroom door shut and sink to the floor with my back to it so no one can walk in. “What else?” I whisper, even though the doors are paper thin and my parents and best friend are still on the other side.

“I’d strip you out of your socks and blow on your toes,” he whispers, and it shouldn’t be a turn-on, but my toes squirm and I get a straight jolt of lust between my thighs.

“And then I’d caress your ankles and lick a trail up your calf and test to see if your knees are ticklish before spreading your legs and having dessert.”

Holy honeybees. My knees drop open, and I reach under my shirt to rub at one aching nipple. “You think you’re any good with dessert?”

“I’m terrible. I’m going to need hours and hours of practice.”

I’m going to need some serious private time with my fingers in a minute here. I pinch my nipple, and a hot arrow of pleasure rockets from my breast to my lady bits. “Hours?”

“Hours. With my face between your legs.”

I whimper.

Because what are words again?

“Dammit, I’m doing this wrong. I was supposed to talk about how much I want to kiss that mouth again first.”

“Not…wrong,” I manage.

I can hear him smiling. “Sarah Dempsey, are you turned on?”

My head drops back, my eyes squeeze shut, and my hand drifts lower. “Just…little.”

“Oh. Only a little? I’m hard as a cast iron frying pan.”

And now I’m picturing him with an erection straining his black boxers, and there’s an overexcited buzz happening in my pussy. My pussy is the yapping chihuahua of pussies right now, wagging its tail and calculating a plan to ride across town with my head hanging out the window so I can attack his boner.

I whimper.

“I’m doing this wrong,” he says. “You want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Ah. So you would want me to kiss those lips again. And strip you down to your bare skin. And suck on your earlobes.”

I hate having my earlobes touched, but offering them as tribute if that’s what Beck wants to suck on sounds utterly divine. Especially if I got to hang on to his broad shoulders and bury my face in his hot skin and taste the very essence of him. “What…about…you?”

“There’s not a single inch of my entire body that wouldn’t be completely turned on if you were touching me.”

I smile. It’s a breathy smile, and I want to rub my clit so bad.

“I really want to kiss you again,” he whispers. “And I want to peel you out of your clothes and worship your body and learn what you like and taste you and stroke you and love you until you can’t remember a time when you were unhappy about anything.”

I suck in a shuddery breath, my skin alternating between flaming hot and icy cold. “I don’t think you actually need lessons in anything.”

“Don’t rob me of my fantasies here. Any of them. Not the ones in my bedroom. Or my hot tub. Or on my patio. On a picnic blanket surrounded by fried chicken and biscuits and peach cobbler.”

I laugh softly while I rub my jeans over my clit. “Strawberry shortcake.”

“Donuts.” He groans softly. “Banana pudding donuts.”

I picture him using a donut as a cock ring, and I’m suddenly so turned on that my panties are dripping, but I’m also laughing.

It’s a weird mix, but I like it. “Cream cheese Danish,” I say.

“Fuck, Sarah, warn a man.” He blows out an audible breath, and I wonder if he’s honestly as turned on as I am. His ragged breath suggests he might be.

“Okay. Control. Okay,” he rasps. “Pepperoni pizza.”

“Mint tea and gazelle cookies.”

“If I were next to you, I’d be slamming into you so hard right now, neither one of us would be able to walk tomorrow.”

It’s not his words.

It’s the way his voice has gone completely hoarse and shaky, like he’s a man on the verge of losing control.