Chapter 18 Collette #2
“Fine. You kissed me.” I gasp. Shit. No. “And I kissed you back.”
Oh.
Silence stretches between us.
“Was it a peck?” I ask him, mortified that I did something like that. He shakes his head. “It was a full-on kiss?” He nods. Oh. Shit. Also, dammit for not remembering, it would have been the only time I could have found out what it was like to kiss the man.
“With tongue. Want me to demonstrate?” he teases.
“Yes.” The word is out before I can argue it.
Fish stills. “What did you say?”
“Show me.” I need to know what I did. I hate the fact that I have no memory of this kiss.
“Are you asking me to kiss you?”
“No, I am asking you to demonstrate what happened that night because I have no memory of it.”
He gives me a confused look. “You want to reenact the kiss.”
“Yes.”
Those blue eyes narrow on me. “Okay.” He grins as he starts to move quickly toward me.
Um. Wait. I didn’t think this through as I quickly back up a little until my back hits the wall. I swallow hard as he places a hand on the wall above my head. “Is this … what happened?” I stutter.
“Kind of. It was in the doorway, but this will work too.” He chuckles darkly as his other hand reaches forward and wraps around my neck, his fingers controlling my chin.
“If I’m going to recreate that kiss, I’m going to recreate it my way.
” His hand squeezes against my throat ever so carefully, making me gasp.
His mouth hovers over mine, close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath, the ghost of contact that isn’t quite there yet.
He’s waiting, making me feel every second of anticipation.
His thumb strokes the side of my throat, and my pulse hammers against it, giving me away completely.
“Last chance to back out, St. Pierre.” His voice is low and rough, and it does things to my body that should be illegal. I shake my head. His mouth crashes into mine.
And oh my god, this is not what I was expecting.
This is not a demonstration, this is not a reenactment.
This is Fish kissing me like he’s been thinking about it for weeks.
His mouth movements against mine are deliberate and controlled, like he knows exactly what he’s doing and has mapped out every single second of this in his head.
His hand tightens around my throat, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me who is in charge right now, and it is absolutely not me.
His other hand slides from the wall to my waist, gripping hard, pulling me flush against him.
I can feel every inch of his body pressed against mine.
The hard planes of his chest. The muscles in his arms. And lower, pressed against my stomach, thick and unmistakable. Big Fish indeed.
A moan escapes me before I can stop it. He swallows it.
His tongue slides against mine, and I grab fistfuls of his shirt because my legs are not functioning, and if I don’t hold onto something, I’ll collapse.
He tastes like beer and confidence, and I’m kissing him back like my life depends on it because my brain has officially left the building and my body has taken over completely.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
Those blue eyes are dark now, pupils blown, and he’s breathing hard.
His thumb is still on my throat. His hand is still on my waist. We’re pressed together against my bedroom wall, and my brothers are on the other side of this apartment, and I don’t care. I don’t care about any of it.
“That,” he says, his voice wrecked, “is not what happened that night.”
“It’s not?” I whisper.
“No. That night you kissed me, it was a teaser.” His thumb strokes my pulse point. “This is what I have wanted to do to you since.”
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to pull him back in and finish what we started. His eyes drop to my mouth, and I know he’s thinking the same thing.
“We should go back out there,” I say, not moving.
“We should,” he agrees, not moving either.
“My brothers are literally in the next room.”
“I’m aware.”
“If any of them walk in here …”
“We’re both dead.”
“So, we should stop.”
“We should.” His hand squeezes my waist one more time before he lets go and steps back. The cold air hits where his body was, and I feel the loss of him immediately. He runs his hand through his hair. His lips are swollen, and so are mine.
“That was a demonstration,” he says.
“That was not a demonstration,” I argue, my voice shaking.
“You asked me to show you.” He grins, but it’s strained, like he’s holding himself together with every ounce of willpower he has. “I showed you.”
“You showed me more than what happened.”
“Consider it an upgrade.” He winks, but his hands are in fists at his sides.
“Fish.”
“I know.” He takes another step back. “I know, Lettie. Friends.”
Friends don’t kiss like that. Friends don’t make your whole body vibrate. Friends don’t leave you wanting to drag them onto your bed while your entire family is in the next room.
“Friends,” I repeat because one of us has to say it and mean it.
He nods, while adjusting his shirt. “You go out first. I’ll follow in a minute.”
“Okay.”
“And, Lettie?”
“Yeah?”
“For the record, the drunk version was incredible too.” He says it quietly, honestly, no cocky deflection. “But this one is going to keep me up at night.”
I walk out of my bedroom on legs that don’t feel like mine and rejoin the party as if I wasn’t just pinned against a wall, being kissed senseless by a man whose lips I can still feel on mine.