Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Fuck, I want to taste that mouth.
Even with her so mad that she’s shaking, I find her irresistible. Before she can cuss me out, kick me in the balls, or even smack me, I let instinct take over.
I reach out with both of my hands, taking her warm face in my palms, before dropping my mouth to hers.
Her sweet taste, like Bubble Yum gum, hits me in an instant, and I groan against her lush mouth.
I might die for this, but at least I’ll die with the taste of her on my lips.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Ambrosia
Okay.
Wait.
What the fuck is happening?
I remember looking for Dawson Sinclair.
Hearing he was with his brother under a tree from someone I don’t even remember asking.
My gaze zeroes in on him. I know that Louis and Jennings were with him, but the second I locked eyes with this buffoon of a man, I was coming for him. Because I’m not dead, I couldn’t help but drink in his sexy ass before stomping right up to him. I know we shouldn’t check out the enemy, but when the enemy has hazel eyes, dimples that are made to drive you mad, and a body that was meant for sports and railing you through a mattress, you check out the enemy.
I’m just a girl, people. Just a girl!
Who is ready to rip him a new one and potentially ruin his chances to pick a damn sport.
And having kids one day,
But now…
Now, all I feel are his warm, callused hands on my face.
His scent engulfing me and reminding me a lot of my dad’s sandalwood cologne.
Then his lips are on mine.
Soft, but hard.
I taste salt, but I love it because it reminds me of chips and salsa.
Fuck me, Dawson Sinclair is kissing me.
And it feels so good.
So right.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been kissed before. But this feels…
Why does this feel so right?
My anger multiplies.
I hadn’t realized my hands were pressed to his chest—Jesus above, he’s built like a damn wall—until I push him with all my might, tearing his lips from mine and putting space between us.
I open my eyes—shit, I had closed them!?—to find him looking almost as stunned as I feel. His eyes are all hooded and sultry. As if he is just as affected by the kiss as I am. It wasn’t even anything to shake a stick at. Just his lips pressing to mine. No tongue, no nibbling, no movement, just coming together, and damn it, it was nice.
No, it was wrong.
But right.
Jesus, he drives me crazy!
He looks so pleased with himself; it makes me irate.
And then he says, “Figured that was the only way to get you to calm down.”
I see red.
“I would call you a son of a bitch, but your mother is a lovely fucking woman, and I refuse to disrespect her like that.”
He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest and making himself appear bigger, all towering over me like he wants to devour me. “But you’ll disrespect me with no issue?”
I snort. “Damn right, because you are the sludge that gathers between periods. All boogers, spit, and lost teeth—and not good teeth, but fucking cavity-ridden ones,” I sneer, my body shaking.
“Damn. Tell me how you really feel,” he says with a choked laugh.
“Where do you get off? I’ve known you for five seconds, and you think that warrants a kiss? Did I give you permission to kiss me?” I snap, my eyes wide, hating that I can still feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
Get it together, Ambrosia!
Finally, he looks a bit guilty. He cups the back of his neck, and my God, is he blushing? “You didn’t, and I’m sorry if I crossed the line—”
“Crossed the line?” I repeat incredulously. “Hotshot, you jumped over that sucker and assaulted me with your lips.”
He eyes me, and why in the hell do I watch his lips move as he asks, “Assaulted you?”
“You don’t get to kiss me without permission!” I screech, but his eyes narrow in on my lips.
Now we’re just two idiots, breathing hard and staring at each other’s lips.
What is happening to me?
His eyes snap to mine just as mine do to his, and he smiles—the kind of smile I only see on his mom’s Instagram. “Blink once if you liked it,” he whispers, and I throw my hands up in rage.
“No, I didn’t like it because it wasn’t wanted!” I yell, stepping toward him but then stepping back when I get a whiff of his cologne.
That dangerous manly smell.
“First, you put on your stories that I’m off-limits? Are you deranged?”
“I did.”
I gawk at him. He has no remorse! If anything, he looks fucking pleased as punch with himself. “News flash, hotshot. I am nothing to you, you are nothing to me. You have no ownership of me or my body. Take—”