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His eyes never leave me as he cuts a path through the dancers. I wait, heart thumping in anticipation. He doesn’t speak until his face is inches from mine.
“I forgot to give you something.” His deep voice resonates through the furthest recesses of my body, and he edges me back into the small space.
“What’s that?” My gaze drops to see what he might be holding but before I can look down, my face is in his hands and his lips are covering mine.
Soft and slow and powerful enough to silence every sound that pulses in the room, he kisses me like me he owns me. Like I’m his. And I kiss him back with the very same certainty. The expert, unhurried caress of his tongue and the gentle, possessive pressure of his fingers on my cheeks engulf my senses. Scent, taste and touch collide and criss cross brilliantly. This kiss. This is what people write songs about. He’s perfect. His kiss is perfect. And I can only surrender to the plush, all-consuming effect of his mouth.
Too soon, he’s pulling away, whispering apologies in my ear. “I’m sorry, beautiful, my time’s up.” His gaze holds tight to mine even as he backs away. “I’ll make it up to you.”
I don’t blink until he’s disappeared through the doorway once again.
You just did.
#kristenvail #footballromance @theauthor.agency
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