Except, the thought of Kingsley with that blond bitch makes the muscles in my belly spasm painfully. My footsteps stutter at the realization that I’m jealous.
No, that can’t be it. This isn’t a relationship. He’s toying with me the same way a cat plays with a mouse.
Instead of detouring toward Sloane, he jerks his chin in her direction. “Sucks to be her.”
All the tension gathering inside me dissolves. I glance at the curvy blonde. If the daggers Sloane is shooting my way are any indication, Kingsley’s lack of interest has only stoked her animosity. And yet, I’d rather deal with that than watch him give her a moment of his attention.
Once we reach the Mustang, he clicks the locks. Color me surprised when he walks around to the passenger side and opens the door. My gaze flashes to his, but his expression remains inscrutable. Even though uncertainty swirls through me, I tamp down any softness trying to take root and slide onto the black leather seat while he saunters around the hood of the shiny red vehicle. Once settled beside me, he starts the engine. A few minutes later, we’re rolling through the gated entrance of Hawthorne Prep and turning onto the main road. My muscles loosen as we leave the school behind.
From beneath the thick fringe of my lashes, I watch as he focuses on the ribbon of black pavement stretched out in front of him. This situation would be far less complicated if we never met at the beach or spent the day together on his boat. If he had never opened up and allowed me to glimpse a different side of him. If I hadn’t spent two months pining for him. Fantasizing about him.
Then all I would know is the asshole from Hawthorne Prep. The one who forced me against the lockers on the first day of school in front of a crowd. The one who wrapped his fingers around my throat and squeezed until I thought I would pass out.
That guy would be so much easier to hate. I could close myself off from him with ease. Instead, all of my thoughts and feelings are a tangle.
I stare sightlessly at the passing scenery. When Kingsley parks the car, I blink out of my thoughts, surprised to find that we’re not in the subdivision. Instead, we’re in the middle of town at a little ice cream stand called the Dairy Barn.
“What are we doing?”
His lips quirk as if it should be obvious. “Getting ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” This is unexpected. I would have preferred he drove me straight home. Spending more time together is dangerous. Especially when I’m trying to sort through and separate all the emotions he rouses inside me.
“Sure.” He shrugs before winking. A teasing glint enters his eyes. “You gave me a treat earlier, I thought I’d return the favor.”
“Kingsley.” Even though there’s no one to eavesdrop on our conversation, I shift on the leather and glance around. “Jeez.”
“What?” His expression turns innocent as a wide grin overtakes his face. “Isn’t it the truth?”
“I’m not going to discuss that with you right now.” Why does he take such perverse pleasure in embarrassing me?
“I enjoyed a creamy dessert earlier, now you get yours.” He angles his body toward mine before his fingers drift over my cheek and into my hair. He twists the silky strands of my ponytail around his hand. The more hair he gathers, the higher my chin rises.
It’s not painful, just possessive. The simple touch has need bursting to life inside me. The distance between us vanishes until his lips can hover over mine.
“Although,” he whispers thickly, “I would much rather feed you something more substantial.” With his other hand, he traces the curve of my lips. “Your mouth was made for fucking. And I plan to make good use of it.”
The mental image he paints shouldn’t arouse me. Memories from the other night tumble through my head. The way he pushed me to my knees and outlined my lips with the tip of his cock. How one firm hand stayed buried in my hair, directing my movements.
Kiss the crown.
A guttural sound escapes from me as our gazes stay locked. His finger falls away as he dips his mouth to caress my top lip with a deliberateness that is agonizing. The touch is tender, which is at odds with the forceful grip on my hair. He strokes my plump bottom one with the same amount of thoroughness before sucking it into his mouth. When he releases the flesh, I’m moments away from spontaneously combusting.
He tugs the thick strands. When I gasp, his tongue darts out to trace over my lips, licking at them with languid strokes before finally taking my mouth. There is nothing frenzied or out of control about this kiss. It’s an exploratory mission of tasting and savoring, as if he is set on devouring me gradually, one heartbeat at a time.