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“That would be great.” Something flashed in Fletcher’s eyes, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. His lower lip pulled between his teeth while I was trying to figure it out. He looked so edible when he did that.
“So that’s settled,” I whispered.
Fletcher took hold of my upper arms and brought me against his chest. I could feel his heart galloping. “You really are something, Lex. Thank you.”
I opened and closed my mouth a few times, but couldn’t think of anything relevant to say. The scent that was so him flooded my senses, making my ears ring and my eyes slide shut against my will. He smelled like fabric softener, and minty toothpaste, and something else. Something musky and so, undeniably male it made my toes curl in my sneakers.
“I wish…” Fletcher’s words petered out, and we were left in the dim hallway with silence all around us.
His hands started tracing circles on my back, leaving trails of tickling heat behind them as they went. I shivered beneath his touch, knowing I needed to put a stop to it, but wanting it to go on for at least another hour. Maybe two. Or possibly forever. The moment stretched out from three seconds, to five, and then to ten. I felt Fletcher’s nose against my messy hair, and listened as he drew in a deep breath. The electricity between us was so strong, it nearly buckled my knees
“You wish what?” I pulled back and looked up at him.
“There’s something between us,” he whispered, his breath dancing across my lips.
I gulped. I wanted Fletcher. I’d wanted him for months. But this was wrong. So wrong. It was like I was at battle with myself.
He pressed one hand to the small of my back and brought the other up to cup the back of my neck. I loved that. “I can’t fight it,” he mumbled, walking me backwards slowly.
The little redheaded angel on my right shoulder shook her head solemnly. Tell him to fight it. Walk away, drive home, and eat some chocolate. That’s the right thing to do.
Fletcher brushed his nose across my cheekbone, and my heart started Irish clog dancing inside of my chest.
The little redheaded devil on my left shoulder joined in the dance. Screw doing the right thing. Tell him to kiss you, and to make it worth your time!
“Then don’t fight it.” The words came out of my mouth before I had any time to think about what I was saying.
That must’ve been the green light Fletcher was waiting for, because his lips were on mine before I could even process another word. They were full and warm, but surrounded by a glorious five o’clock shadow that made my limbs go weak and my eyes roll back in my head.
And roll back, they did.
Because when his head tipped to the side, and his tongue traced a path along my upper lip to encourage my mouth to open more, it was over. My hands dug into the back of his hair, tangling into his blonde locks, and securing his face to mine. His hand pressed my body into his even more, arching my back before sliding down my hip to my thigh, which he raised against his hip as we landed against the wall with a muted thud. An old painting swayed near the back of my head, but I didn’t care as Fletcher’s fingers kneaded gently against the back of my knee, and his teeth caught my lower lip with the softest of nips. His mouth moved down my jaw line to my neck, just below my ear, where his breath against my skin caused me to gasp—yes, gasp—as every nerve ending in my body hummed with utter awareness.
Self control: gone.
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