Page 59 of Tracking Snow

The air between us is thick and warm and smells like her. My hands stay on the bar because if they come off, I'll use them.

Nobody in my head says a word. Not even him.

I dip my head and kiss her.

Instead of punching me in the face and calling me an asshole like I expect, Snow releases a desperate little mewl. Her fists close in the front of my hoodie and she hauls me in closer.

We gasp against each other’s mouths with the same relief.

Fuck, it’s so good. I’d been replaying what happened in the Pumpkin Coach Club over and over in my mind with equal parts lust and shame multiple times a day. My memory couldn’t do justice to the seductive slide of her perfect, full lips over mine. Or the drugging effect her warm skin and taste have on me.

Everything falls away. The room. The others in my head, even me. There’s only Snow and the way she kisses with abandon and curiosity. As if she can find something new in my mouth each time. And somehow, she always does.

She nibbles on the corner of my lips, changes the angle of her tongue to mine, and each new discovery makes me wild.

The spray bottle hits the floor. I lift her by the backs of her thighs. She wraps her legs around me, and we knock into a stool, a table, the arm of one of the big velvet couches she falls into. She shoves at my chest, pushing me off even as she settles back into the seat. Legs spread, knee-high stiletto boots raising her knees, she sits like an expectant queen.

She points in front of her legs. "Down, boy."

Not used to taking commands, I hesitate. But then I’m forced to my knees. For a moment, I think it’s Four or Five who overrode my control.

It was Seven.

The way she ordered us down. His hunger comes up under me, and I'm standing on it the way you stand on a boat. The knees weren't mine. The wanting is getting hard to sort, his from ours from mine.

He won't come out. He can never come out. Not after what he’s done.

But he’s so close, it’s almost like we’re both here together. And we want Snow.

Badly.

"Grovel." She hooks one knee-high boot over my shoulder, leather skirt riding up her thighs, and points down. "Properly."

I don't hesitate this time. My mouth lands on the inside of her knee, and the whole of us exhales. Twelve days without this skin. I work up her thigh slowly, one kiss at a time, and nobody in my head tells me to stop. Snow's fingers burrow into my hair.

I still remember sucking her off my finger, and my throat tightens with anticipation.

"Take it off," she demands, with a sharp tug on my hair.

I look up and realize what she means. I sit back on my heels and tug my hoodie over my head, my curls falling back into my eyes. I’m long overdue for a cut.

"The shirt too," she adds with the same command, but it’s a little breathier this time.

I pull it off. Gooseflesh sweeps down my arms, the bar's air conditioning finding every inch of me while her eyes do the same. She hums in approval, and I resume my previous position.

"Can I kiss you again?" I ask.

She raises an imperious brow, but I can tell underneath her cold exterior she is enjoying herself. "You may kiss here," she says, pointing to the side of her neck. So I stretch up and do just that. I kiss, and nibble, and drink her in.

She points lower to her clavicle. I move there and give it the same treatment. She continues to point out more spots, and I follow her lead until I twist her cut-off tee up out of my way, shove her bra up, and close my mouth over her nipple. My pulse has moved below my belt now, heavy and thick and beating against my zipper, and every point of her under my mouth feeds it.

We could never think straight, Six points out.

I ignore him and revel in the texture and taste of Snow until she pushes on my head. I understand what she wants and push her knees further apart.

For a second time, that dark hunger rises from the most forbidden place in all of us.

Is it me, or Seven who slides our hands under her perfect ass to the edge of her panties and peels them off? I’m not entirely sure who shoves them in our back pocket before taking hold of her thighs and pulling her to the edge of the couch.