Bad Boy Brit (A British Bad Boy Romance) by Caitlin Daire, Avery Wilde Page A
Authors: Caitlin Daire, Avery Wilde
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only knew that if I hadn’t moved, if I hadn’t lunged forward to kiss her right then and there, then I probably would have damn well burst from frustration. I found no resistance. Allison seemed to welcome the kiss, and she returned it as if her life depended on it.
I’d kissed many women before; there was no doubt about that. On those occasions, there had been heat, there had been passion, and there had certainly been arousal. But there had never been need. I didn’t need to kiss a woman and I didn’t need relief from my undoubted arousal, but I knew that I needed Allison—to kiss her, hold her, to be with her. Maybe even love her…but that was a thought for another moment, another day.
The kiss ended and we parted, our breath audible once again. I noticed that Allison was shaking and wondered if the water had made her cold, but then I noticed that I was shaking too, and I wasn’t even close to cold. Hell no. I was burning for her.
Without a word, I got to my feet and offered a hand to Allison. She took it and I helped her up. She rested against me for a second, as if she might fall without my support, and as our eyes met again there was more than mere heat between us; there was a clear and mutual understanding.
I kept Allison’s hand in mine and led her across the stadium. Her steps were eager and urgent, and there were still no words between us. They had ceased to be necessary.
We both knew exactly what we wanted to do in this moment, and we were damn well going to do it.
Chapter 9
Allison
In this sort of situation, my mind would’ve usually been racing nineteen to the dozen, asking me what the hell I was doing, if I was sure and whether or not I had my sexiest black panties on. Not that I often found myself in this sort of situation; I wasn’t the sort of girl who gave it up on a first date—well, there were a couple of anomalies which argued against that, but what happens in college stays in college, right? The point was that if I had been the sort of girl who regularly did this sort of thing, then each time I did it, my mind would’ve been trying to trip me up with a whole bunch of questions, and yet right now it wasn’t.
I also might’ve been wearing nicer panties if this was the sort of thing I did regularly…but to hell with that. I doubted Liam cared what my underwear looked like, as long as he got it off me in good time.
There was something almost unreal about what was happening right now. We hadn’t said a word to each other since I’d asked about chemicals in the sprinkler water—which could hardly be considered one of the world’s greatest lines of seduction—and yet it felt as if we hadn’t stopped talking. All the unasked and unanswered questions had, on some level, been asked and answered. We both knew what was about to happen; both knew that we wanted it to happen.
More than anything.
If questions had actually been asked, the answer would’ve been a resounding and unequivocal ‘YES!’, and somehow, not asking made it different; made it more personal. There was none of that, ‘Well it’s our first date, soooooo…’ awkwardness. We understood each other, we wanted each other, and that was all there was to it. Why would there be any need to articulate that further in words?
Liam opened a door high above the stadium and led me into a little booth where the announcer usually sat during games. At first I’d wondered where he was taking me, and why there in particular. After the sprinklers had gone off, sex on the pitch had lost some of its appeal, but there was no shortage of other rooms in the stadium’s labyrinthine complex that were presumably warm and dry and had some sturdy enough items of furniture. To tell the truth, I was so turned on right now that I’d probably have been perfectly happy with the floor. But now I was here, and I could see out of the announcer’s window to the eagle’s eye view of the stadium.
It was painfully beautiful. The room itself,
I’d kissed many women before; there was no doubt about that. On those occasions, there had been heat, there had been passion, and there had certainly been arousal. But there had never been need. I didn’t need to kiss a woman and I didn’t need relief from my undoubted arousal, but I knew that I needed Allison—to kiss her, hold her, to be with her. Maybe even love her…but that was a thought for another moment, another day.
The kiss ended and we parted, our breath audible once again. I noticed that Allison was shaking and wondered if the water had made her cold, but then I noticed that I was shaking too, and I wasn’t even close to cold. Hell no. I was burning for her.
Without a word, I got to my feet and offered a hand to Allison. She took it and I helped her up. She rested against me for a second, as if she might fall without my support, and as our eyes met again there was more than mere heat between us; there was a clear and mutual understanding.
I kept Allison’s hand in mine and led her across the stadium. Her steps were eager and urgent, and there were still no words between us. They had ceased to be necessary.
We both knew exactly what we wanted to do in this moment, and we were damn well going to do it.
Chapter 9
Allison
In this sort of situation, my mind would’ve usually been racing nineteen to the dozen, asking me what the hell I was doing, if I was sure and whether or not I had my sexiest black panties on. Not that I often found myself in this sort of situation; I wasn’t the sort of girl who gave it up on a first date—well, there were a couple of anomalies which argued against that, but what happens in college stays in college, right? The point was that if I had been the sort of girl who regularly did this sort of thing, then each time I did it, my mind would’ve been trying to trip me up with a whole bunch of questions, and yet right now it wasn’t.
I also might’ve been wearing nicer panties if this was the sort of thing I did regularly…but to hell with that. I doubted Liam cared what my underwear looked like, as long as he got it off me in good time.
There was something almost unreal about what was happening right now. We hadn’t said a word to each other since I’d asked about chemicals in the sprinkler water—which could hardly be considered one of the world’s greatest lines of seduction—and yet it felt as if we hadn’t stopped talking. All the unasked and unanswered questions had, on some level, been asked and answered. We both knew what was about to happen; both knew that we wanted it to happen.
More than anything.
If questions had actually been asked, the answer would’ve been a resounding and unequivocal ‘YES!’, and somehow, not asking made it different; made it more personal. There was none of that, ‘Well it’s our first date, soooooo…’ awkwardness. We understood each other, we wanted each other, and that was all there was to it. Why would there be any need to articulate that further in words?
Liam opened a door high above the stadium and led me into a little booth where the announcer usually sat during games. At first I’d wondered where he was taking me, and why there in particular. After the sprinklers had gone off, sex on the pitch had lost some of its appeal, but there was no shortage of other rooms in the stadium’s labyrinthine complex that were presumably warm and dry and had some sturdy enough items of furniture. To tell the truth, I was so turned on right now that I’d probably have been perfectly happy with the floor. But now I was here, and I could see out of the announcer’s window to the eagle’s eye view of the stadium.
It was painfully beautiful. The room itself,
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