Page 5 of Praised
“Kiss me,” he said.
“Or what?”
“No or.” Frankie shook his head, and I noticed his eyes were the same shade of green as the stained glass on the wall behind him. “Kiss me, and if you do it good enough to make me change my mind about sleeping with you…”
He trailed off, leaving the win unsaid.
“This sounds like a trap,” I said.
“This sounds like you’re a horrible kisser.”
That was a bridge too far for me. With a haughty laugh, I slid my hand around the back of his head and pulled him toward me, stopping with his mouth less than an inch from mine. His pupils dilated and he rolled his neck, testing the hold I had on the back of his head.
“Are you scared you’ll lose, Flynn?”
I didn’t even offer him a reply, instead crashing our mouths together without another word. Frankie didn’t fight when my tongue slicked across the seam of his mouth, and he didn’t protest when I changed the angle of my head to deepen the kiss. He kissed me back, with his hands settled gently on my hips, but it didn’t take long for me to realize there wasn’t any fire in it.
From either end.
Pulling back, I let my hand fall from his hair, and I touched the corner of my mouth, the mix of our spit still present on my lips. Frankie let go of my hips and reached for his drink, taking a reasonably-sized swallow. I grabbed my scotch and finished the rest of it off with a grunt.
“Flynn.”
“Don’t.”
“Flynn, is that…is that really how you kiss people?” he asked.
“Is that really howyoukiss people?”
He scoffed. “I’m a great kisser. You’re the one who…”
“Kissing you was like making out with one of those life-size cardboard standees,” I said, wishing I had more liquor in my glass.
I was pressed to remember a kiss as bad as that one, and I’d done a lot of kissing in my life. My first kiss hadn’t even been as boring and bland as my last one.
“I’ve never kissed a fish.” Frankie laughed. “But that’s what I’ve always thought it would be like if I did.”
“Fuck off.”
My ego and pride were more wounded than anything else, and the soft cock between my legs was proof that Frankie was the one at fault, not me. I was a good kisser. I knew how to kiss. I’d made people come just from kissing before, just from my tongue, and it felt important to tell him that.
“This mouth”—I pointed at my mouth, drawing a furious circle in the air above my lips—“knows how to kiss.”
“I’m a fair kind of guy,” Frankie said, his stupid useless mouth tipping up into a smirk. “I’ll give you another chance to prove it.”
“I’m not kissing you again.”
How had I been so wrong about him? Going off looks and attitude alone, Frankie had all the markers that should have made him a great once-off, and yet…there we both stood.
Flaccid and unimpressed.
“I’m not kissing you again either, Casanova.” He looked over his shoulder scanning the dance floor before obviously finding his target. “You’re kissing him.”
CHAPTER2
ROSE
The only thingworse than dating a cheating fuck boy was getting dumped by a cheating fuck boy.
