Page 70 of Wicked Little Secret
“I feel like this is a mistake,” she says candidly, her breath on my lips.
I’ve drawn her face closer to mine like I’m about to kiss her. I’m one impulsive second away from doing so.
Yet she hasn’t pulled away. If anything, she’s melted into me, letting me hold her like I am.
“A mistake,” I repeat. “Why, Miss Oliver?”
“Because… because we’re not supposed to be together.”
“Says who?”
“Everyone.”
“Should we care?”
“Yes,” she breathes. “I do.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a distraction,” she confesses. “You’re dangerous.”
My pulse thrums harder, grin widening. I graze my lips against hers in a tantalizing tease. “But isn’t that what draws you to me? Be honest, Miss Oliver. You like the danger. The forbidden. A curious mind like yours. You crave it as much as I do.”
I don’t bother waiting for an answer. Why should I when I already know the truth deep down?
My mouth claims hers, coming together in a kiss bursting with passion. Every ounce of desire that I have for her.
She immediately goes still in my arms, thrown by my brazenness.
That I’m kissing her like I am, hard and demanding. That, technically, even in an empty museum, someone could walk by and find us.
But I’m done playing cat and mouse. I’m done pretending as if the attraction between us isn’t real. I’m a moth and she’s the flame I can’t resist.
Her sweet taste is one I simply won’t give up.
Nyssa loses her breath. She gasps as I kiss her soft mouth. Yet she parts her lips for more. She lets me inside. Her wet tongue and mine mingle in a dance.
I clench her within my grip and feel the arousal surging through me. It’s so potent, I could burst out of my skin. My pulse pounds in my ear and blood rushes to my cock. Arousal makes my normally sharp mind grow hazy.
All I can think about is Nyssa Oliver and the feel of soft, slick pussy.
I can practically feel it clenched around me.
“Professor,” she sputters, finally finding an ounce of restraint. She turns her head away from mine.
But I merely kiss her cheek and jaw. I travel down to a spot on the side of her throat that makes her shudder in my arms.
“We can’t,” she goes on breathlessly.
“We will.”
“Professor—”
I silence her with another kiss to the lips. I savor the taste of her, chocolate and peppermint from her earlier treat at a local bakery, and swallow down any more protests.
Gradually, we step back. We kiss as we walk toward the wall. My hands explore the curves that have been ruling my mind for days while hers wind up clinging to the front of my shirt. I bring her up against the wall with every intention of devouring the rest of her.
The lights go out before I can.