Pucker Up by Valerie Seimas

skirting across his eyes,
before capturing her mouth again, his tongue sliding in to taste her.
    It
had been a decade since she’d been kissed like this, with a ferocity all but
forgotten.  The longing that songs were made of.  The exasperation of his lips
stalking hers, needing to get closer.  The confidence of his stance, pressing
her against the porch post, cornered by his presence.  The intimacy of his
hands, slipping her shirt up over her head and then settling on her hips; hands
rough and worn and oh so gentle.  And then not really gentle at all.
    Dustin
shook with desire, the first brush of her lips awakening things he’d long
forgotten.  Part of him was sure she was still a dream and he leaned closer,
needing to feel that she was real.  His hands slid up her body, stung by the
heat of her skin, and came to rest in her hair.  He filled his hands with her
curls, and a wave of need and remembrance crashed against him.
    “Owww,”
she yelped.  The sound of her pain caused him to release her and take a step
back.  But her body curved towards him.
    “What’s
wrong?  Did I – did I hurt you?” he growled.  He ran a hand through his hair,
trying to stop himself from reaching for her.
    “Something
did,” she murmured.  But she wasn’t looking at him.  Instead, she turned to
look at the post he’d pressed her against.  He cursed when he saw her back.  A
cluster of splinters were embedded just beneath the strap of her bra.  He
should have refinished the porch years ago.  “What?” she asked.
    Dustin
reached for a hollow section of the railing and pulled out a small box.  “Stand
still.  You have a sliver.”
    “The
porch bit me?”
    “I
think I helped.”  He removed a pair of tweezers and approached her.  “Stand
still.”
    His
fingers brushed against her back, and he heard her sharp intake of breath.  She
wasn’t any less affected than he was – it only made him want to press his lips
against her skin even more.  “I thought Andrews were gentlemen.”
    “Whatever
gave you that idea?”  He yanked without warning, and she jumped.
    “Absolutely
no clue.”  He pulled out the others in quick succession, placing a Band-Aid over
the small punctures when he was done.  The last time he’d tended to slivers the
girl had pigtails; his hands hadn’t shook then.
    “There. 
Good as new.” 
    Faith
turned around, and their eyes met for a moment before she looked away.  One
hand on her hip, the other covering her lips, she looked exactly how he felt – shocked,
sexed, and scared.  “I have to go.”
    She
turned to leave, took two steps, and then returned, grabbing her shirt from the
floorboards.  She cast one long look at him as she slipped it back on.  “I have
to go,” she repeated, stomping off to her car.
    He
watched her walk away, his mind more confused than before.  He thought he
wanted her to leave; he’d wanted nothing else since he saw her step out of her
car.  A couple of kisses and now it seemed it was the last thing he wanted. 
She reached her car, and he started for the door, knowing he didn’t have the
strength to watch her go, but stopped.  A smirk hit his face as he saw her slip
behind the wheel and realize she didn’t have any keys. 
    He
waited five minutes before making his way over to her, never actually expecting
her to return to the house.  He leaned his hip against the passenger side door,
looking out at his driveway.  “What happened to ‘I have to go’?”
    “I
still have to go.”  She paused and strummed her fingers against the steering
wheel.  “I’m just having a bit of trouble with the execution.”
    “Thought
maybe you remembered you hadn’t said goodbye.”  He snapped his fingers and
slammed a hand down on the car for emphasis.  “That’s right; you’ve never been
all that good with goodbyes, have you?”
    “This
isn’t really the time for – ”
    “No?”
he asked.  “When’s the time then, Ally?”  He looked at