Page 56 of Spicy Ever After
But then her fingers snake into my hair, and she pulls me down, sealing our mouths together.
Her grip on me is firm. Her hold tight.
I tilt my head, opening for her, and I hear her surprised gasp just before her tongue darts out to swipe mine.
She tastes like Sunday mornings.
A coffee and sugar promise. The reward for six endless days.
Sweet. Hot. And not nearly enough.
I chase after her retreating tongue with my own, a moan rising from me as I plunge into the heat of her mouth.
It’s like my senses have been behind glass my whole life. Kissing Hattie is a sledgehammer.
My fingers dive into the impossibly thick cascade of her hair. How can it be so soft when there’s so much of it?
I breathe her in—apricot shampoo and woman—like I could make her part of me. Keep her with me after we say goodbye.
And with a surge of something almost painful, I’m already dreading it. The goodbye.
Even ending this kiss seems unacceptable. Delaying the end, I wrap my arms around her. My mouth dives deeper as I draw her closer, claiming more of her.
With a delicious whimper, Hattie softens, almost melting in my arms.
I want to know all of her. See all of her. Touch all of her.
My hands are already gliding down her back, seeking to map her every curve, to learn the supple secrets of her body, to?—
A sharp voice slices the air around us.
“Harriet?!”
Chapter Eight
HATTIE
I didn’t think there was anything better than sewing.
I was wrong.
Because kissing Beck Olivier is way better than sewing.
I’ve kissed other people before. Three in fact.
Quinton Harper. Matt Robicheaux. And Camryn Bernard.
Yes. I’ve kissed a girl.
At a church retreat.
I figured if I didn’t get what all the fuss was about after kissing boys, maybe I was queer and I should try girls.
Kissing each of them felt like eating candy with the wrapper still on.
Like…
There’s got to be more than this, right?
