Owen grabs my wrist, pulling me against him and tipping my chin up. “I forgot to tell you something, Tally.”
Great. Here it comes—the unwelcome but expected disclosure of last night.
“What’s that?” I inquire, plastering a smile that I pray isn’t too artificial on my face.
“This is most definitely a date.” Owen takes advantage of my slightly parted lips, possessing my mouth without permission, and setting off an internal inferno.
Some kisses are pleasant. Pretty much all the kisses I’ve ever experienced land in that category. I never felt sparks or butterflies or any other variety of insect, but they were nice.
This is not one of those kisses. The moment Owen’s lips brush mine, my body lights up like Mardi gras.
I push up on tiptoe, my hands circling his neck as I surrender to the weight of his mouth crushing mine. There is nothing easygoing about the way he lays claim. No, this kiss is a firestorm, his body daring me to disobey his commands.
Owen hoists me into his arms as my legs lock around his waist. We aren’t 0-60, we’re 0-1,000. My back hits the wall as Owen cradles my head from impact, his mouth refusing to release me.
I slide my hands along the lines of his chest, desperate for the feel of his skin against mine. I’m tempted to rip the shirt from his body and judging from the way his hands knead my ass, pulling me flush against his erection, Owen is just as desperate.
With a strangled huff, Owen breaks the kiss, burrowing his face against my neck. “We have to stop, Tally.”
“Okay,” I manage, willing my heart—and hormones—to settle.
He lifts his head, those stormy eyes hooded with lust. His lips graze mine as he thrusts his hips forward, trapping my body between the wall and his broad frame. “Because if we don’t stop now, I’m going to carry you to the bedroom, and we aren’t making the concert.”
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