Interim(93)

“You did?”

“Did you not feel me kiss you back?”

“I did. I thought you were just being nice.”

She burst out laughing. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

“Believe me. If I didn’t want you kissing me, you wouldn’t have kissed me. I’m not ‘nice’ about things like that,” she said finally.

He nodded.

“It was out of the blue,” she pointed out.

“Surge of testosterone,” he explained.

She looked down at her shirt smeared with grit and grime. He grimaced.

“I’m sorry for that. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. I want this one,” she said, fingering the fabric. Then her hand moved to her cheek. She knew that was smeared with grease as well.

Something surged inside of her—a feeling she’d never experienced with Brandon. It was feral, and she thought it was because Jeremy marked her. Claimed her. So that was that. She was his.

“Do it again,” she said.

“Do what? Kiss you?”

She nodded.

“I’m filthy,” he said, presenting his palms to her.

“Good.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I need you to kiss me again,” she said patiently. “And not be nice about it.”

She didn’t understand her own words. This must be lust, she thought. This must be desire. Real desire.

He leaned into her and bent his head. His lips grazed her neck, trailing light kisses. He really didn’t know what he was doing, but sensuality seemed to come fairly easy for him. Maybe it was instinctual. Well that would account for all the babies, he thought absurdly. She moaned softly, and he stilled his lips.

What is she asking me? he thought.

Stop thinking so much!

But what do I do?

“KISS ME!” Regan cried in his ear.

He jerked up, smacking the side of her head with his own.

“Oh God! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he said, stroking her temple.

She swatted his hand and grabbed his face. “Whatever you were thinking right before you kissed me for the first time, I want you to think about it again. Got it?”

He nodded. Go the distance. Go the distance. Go the f*cking distance, Jeremy.

He took hold of her hips and lifted her onto the counter.

Go the distance.

He wedged his body between her legs, eliciting a shocked “Oh!” from her lips.

Go the distance.

He cupped her face once more, holding her in a near death grip, staring at her like she was dinner.

Go the distance.

Lips to lips. A squirm. A shudder. Desire to be closer when they both knew they couldn’t. Not yet. Much too soon. But the desire, building building in their hearts, their mouths, forcing heated kisses, wet with want.

She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him closer. He encircled her lower back and pulled her to him, crushing himself against her so that she could have no doubt of his yearning for her. It throbbed between her legs, exciting her own sexual response. She grew wet for him, and instinct commanded her hips. She jerked and thrust against him, searching for release.

Not right not right! her mind screamed. She knew it wasn’t right. But her body moved against her will, desperate for undoing. She wanted this boy to undo her. She whimpered into his mouth.

He eased off of her, knowing what she wanted. Knowing it wasn’t the right moment to give it to her.

“Seriously?!” she cried.

“What?”

“I . . . you . . .” She gripped the counter, certain of leaving fingernail marks.

Jeremy waited.

“Why are you teasing me?” she asked helplessly.

“I’m not trying to. You asked me to take control. I’m just doing what you asked,” he replied.

“You know what I want, and you’re not giving it to me!” she whined.

He smirked. “You’re damn right.”

He never thought consternation could look so beautiful. There she sat trapped in sexual frustration, smeared with muck, her breath coming in short, hard pants. For the first time in his life, he wielded the power. So this is what it felt like for her—to possess ultimate control. It swelled his heart, his chest, his muscles. He could feel himself growing, stretching, transforming into The Hulk. He could make her do anything with that power. So why did he have the sudden urge to kneel before her instead?