Page 57 of The Hopelessly Bromantic Duet

I’ve got to break this cycle. I have to stop fighting with him. I have to say it. “I made a mistake,” I mutter, starting down the path of honesty.

“I didn’t hear you,” he says as the rain lashes us, as cars rush by, as truths rise on the edge of my tongue.

“It was a stupid mistake,” I say, louder, clearer. “My idea was a terrible way to deal with things.” Admitting it lessens some of the tension in me.

“Then get a better idea,” Jude huffs, locking his hard and fierce eyes on me.

It’s time. I go for it. I close the distance in seconds flat, lift my hands, hold his face. “This is a much better idea.”

I seal my lips on his, and I don’t hold back. I pour everything I have into this kiss. It’s like ten thousand kisses. It’s all the kisses in the city. All the times I’ve thought of Jude. All the longing. All the desire.

With my lips, I tell him all the things I won’t say out loud. The sentences form in my head.

I have a massive crush on you.

I can’t get you out of my head.

I’m a little bit crazy for you.

He tastes like he’s a little crazy for me too.

He kisses fearlessly, sweeping those lush lips over mine, nipping, biting, tugging.

Groans pass between our mouths like sips of a drink—a bottle shared back and forth for us to consume.

This kiss is everything we held back in the park. It’s everything I wanted on that bench. On a rainy night in London, all the checked restraint washes away on the sidewalk as Jude wraps his arms around my neck and I hold his face in my hands.

We don’t stop. We speed up, asking for more, throwing in the white flag of surrender completely.

I spear my tongue into his mouth, devouring his taste. My God, I want to claim him everywhere. Map his body with my mouth.

His tongue strokes mine and he tugs me against him, and we are unstoppable. I gasp into his mouth as our cocks rub together, rock-hard through our jeans.

My brain pops, and my skin sizzles, and somewhere in my mind, I’m aware that we’re soaking wet on the streets of London after midnight, and neither one of us cares.

I never want to stop kissing him. But I do want to know all the flavors of his kiss, so I slow down, tug on his bottom lip.

And I shudder. Everywhere.More, more, my mind begs.Don’t stop—my heartbeat echoes.

I downshift into a slow, indulgent kiss, and in seconds, he’s moaning into my mouth.

His sounds electrify my senses as I take a long, lingering tour of his lush mouth, lick the corner of his lips, then press a gentle, druggy kiss right there.

“Ohhhh,” he murmurs and grinds against me, seeking contact. Seeking me. Inside, I smile wickedly. I’m kissing Jude, and he’s coming apart under my touch.

I don’t care about anything but getting him naked and into my bed.

We wrench apart. I stare hungrily at this man with the swollen lips and drenched hair. We’re both soaking wet. “Have you seen my shower curtain? It’s really perky.”

Jude’s smile is dirty and delicious. “Show it to me.”

21

CONFESSIONS OF AN AFTERSHAVE THIEF

TJ

Wet clothes on your skin are not arousing. After a quick walk in the rain, we head up the five floors in our building, our shoes squeaking on each step.