Page 101 of Ignition

“I’m fine,” I muttered. “Just… need a minute.”

But my words were belied by the way my arms had locked around my torso, my coat draped over my legs like a blanket, and my eyes wouldn’t stop scanning the parking area outside.

“Fine? You’re as white as a—”

He pressed his lips together, the corners of his mouth twitching.

Ha-ha.

Then, the twitch bloomed into a full smirk, and a glint sparked behind his lashes, one that jump-started my pulse.

“Shall I make you blush?”

His voice dipped into that register he used to whisper bold things in my ear. His hand slid to my bouncing knee, stilling it at once. Then he arched in, gaze snagging on my mouth as he stroked my knee, drawing slow circles over it.

“Hmm?”

Heat returned to my body with a violent jolt at the patronising lilt in his voice. Tongue darting out to wet my lips, I inched in, chasing the promise of heat, of the press of his mouth on mine.

His mouth brushed mine, then lured it into an impossibly soft kiss, as if he was coaxing me back to sensation, back into my own body. His other hand found my side, dragging me closer, thumb stroking the dip of my waist, over and over, a hypnotic motion that kicked up goosebumps along my spine.

I melted into him.

My hand slid to his forearm, fingertips grazing it, and his tongue traced the seam of my mouth, seeking access, before his taste flooded my tongue—vanilla-sweet cola, buttery popcorn, and something uniquely him. Something I craved more of.

Instead, the kiss slowed.

Our lips unglued as if reluctant to part.

“That’s a little better.” His voice pitched so low, it vibrated through my bones. The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smirk as he took in my heated cheeks, which of course only spiked my blush.

“Sh-shut up.” I scrunched up my nose at him, and the smirk deepened.

“Do you want to head straight to campus?” He switched on the headlights. “Or go on a little drive? Promise I won’t talk about the movie.”

The click of our seat belts punched through the silence as I pondered what to do, knowing how this likely ended—with his hot mouth pressed against my skin—and hating how much part of me craved it.

“A ride might be nice.”

Despite my outwardly decisive tone, my hands wrung together in my lap.

Music started again, but I could scarcely hear it over my thumping heart as his hand drifted from my knee to the gear stick, then back, each whisper of his fingertips over my tights kicking up little firecrackers along my skin.

Falling by Trevor Daniel floated out of the speakers, and my eyes abandoned the scenery of muddied snow and the slumbering city as my lids grew heavy, and I focused on the lyrics.

Fitting.

I hummed along to the song, squeezing his hand whenever it landed over my knee.

He was leaning back, dazzling eyes fixed ahead with a sort of lazy concentration. I couldn’t remember a time I was more drawn to him. Meanwhile, he was just existing, with no idea what he did to me.

His gaze flicked sideways, catching me red-handed, but my own didn’t skitter away for once.

A surprised breath shuddered out of me.

I’d enjoyed this. A little too much.

Then a slow, pained sigh hissed from my lips as I dragged my gaze back to the windows, where tall dark trees flitted past, and I tried to ignore the jagged knot in my stomach.