When I moved to River’s Edge, dating was the last thing on my mind.
I definitely didn’t expect to fall for him.
Popular. Star athlete. Cocky as hell.
You know the type.
But as time passed, I realized there was more lurking beneath that gorgeous exterior.
Secretive. Angry. A little bit broken.
The more I peeled back his layers, the deeper I fell.
Until I slammed headfirst into his sea of lies.
I blew my shot.
Pissed everything away—college, lacrosse, my future—only to end up right back where I started in River’s Edge.
I was content to revel in my misery, spending my days drowning in a bottomless pit of booze and girls.
Until I saw her.
Beautiful. Sarcastic. Perpetual bad attitude.
The pretty little distraction from the shit show that was my life.
But the sins of my past were closing in on me, and I learned the hard way that nothing gold can stay.
“Did you hear that?” I ask.
Moving in slowly, he cages me in, bracing his right arm on the wall above my head, his left hand by my hip. He brings his lips close to my ear and I fight the shiver that rolls through me. “It’s probably just your admirer,” he says, his voice hushed and husky. I swallow hard, looking over his shoulder as he nuzzles closer, his nose skimming my neck, then down to my collarbone. My pulse pounds in my ears as he moves back up, his mouth brushing across my cheek, stopping at my parted lips.
“Is this convincing?” He asks. He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my lips, and I realize that I want him to do it. I want him to kiss me.
I give a slight shake of my head in response.
“No?” He smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to me. His left hand leaves the wall to curl around my hip and he presses his chest to mine. “How about this?”
“Almost,” I whisper. I wet my lips and the tip of my tongue nearly grazes his bottom lip. His expression goes from playful to heated in an instant, then he’s closing the final distance.
It’s soft at first, just a brush of his lips against mine, but soon he’s cupping my face with both hands, tilting my head back as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, his movements confident and skilled. Unhurried and unyielding.
My hands find his shirt, pulling him closer as his tongue fucks my mouth. Because that’s exactly what this is. This isn’t kissing. Or maybe it is, and I’ve been kissing the wrong boys.
Jesse groans, fitting a firm thigh between my legs, and the need bubbling inside me threatens to boil over at the sensation. But all too soon, he pulls back, leaving me breathless.
“Was that convincing enough?”
Charleigh Rose lives in Narnia with her husband and two young children. She’s hopelessly devoted to unconventional love and pizza. When she isn’t reading or mom-ing, she’s writing moody, broody, swoony romance.