Shadow & Soul by Susan Fanetti Page B

name.”
     
    She smiled. There was a good chance that today her crush on Michael was turning into something more than that—which sucked extra hard, since nothing was going to happen as long as her father had anything to say about anything. “So give him a better name. What do you like better?”
     
    Michael peered into the holes. Faith couldn’t imagine he could see much in that dark space, but it seemed like he could. “He looks like that cartoon cat. The one who’s always chasing Tweety?”
     
    “Sylvester? Yeah, he looks just like him. But I think he’s tougher than that. More like Sylvester Stallone.”
     
    He turned to her and grinned. “Sly Stallone. Yeah. That’s his name.”
     
    When they got to Dante, Michael handed her the box full of cat. “Happy birthday.”
     
    She stared at him. “What?”
     
    “He’s for you. Happy birthday.”
     
    “You’re giving me a free, feral cat for my birthday?” She’d meant it as a joke, but she was sorry she’d said it, because he blushed, and hurt went through his eyes. He’d really thrown her, though. She didn’t think she could go home with a cat any more than he could. Especially not a man-eating beast.
     
    “He’ll like you. I know.” He set the box in Dante’s bed, then opened the top. Lifting Faith’s hand, he put it in the box with Sly—who immediately swiped at her, drawing blood.
     
    But then he bumped their joined hands and purred.
     
    “See?” Michael closed the top of the box, and then he noticed that her hand was bleeding. “Oh, damn. Sorry.”
     
    He lifted her hand again, and this time he took it all the way to his lips and kissed the new wound. Faith’s heart raced.
     
    And then he held her face in his hands like he’d done before, and he kissed her, and she was fairly certain she was going to pass out.
     
    This time, she was determined not to pull away. The first time, she’d been overwhelmed and not sure how to kiss and breathe at the same time. This time, she’d just go ahead and pass out if she ran out of air, but she was not going to pull away, not ever.
     
    His lips felt so fantastic. He needed to shave, too—there was bristle all around his mouth, like sandpaper. He was so blond she hadn’t noticed the scruff until it was rubbing against her skin. But oh, she liked it. She liked the way it hurt a little. And she loved the way his tongue moved inside her mouth, soft but greedy, and the way his hands were tense around her face. If everybody kissed like this, Faith couldn’t understand why people weren’t doing it all day every day. Because this was the best thing ever.
     
    Then one hand left her face, and she almost whined, but she was afraid to make any noise that might spook him and make him stop. She focused on their lips and tongues, on trying to learn what he was doing so she could do it, too.
     
    His hand was on her waist. Moving up under her shirt. Oh, shit, that felt good, just his hand on the skin over her ribs. Oh, shit. She couldn’t stop a little whimper.
     
    He groaned in response and then turned them, pushing her back against her car. And then—oh shit oh shit—his hand was on her boob. Over the bra, but still. No one had ever touched her there. The nerves in her boob felt carbonated, billions of bubbles popping under her skin. She wanted him to move her bra. More than anything else in this life, she wanted him to get that stupid thing out of their way. She wanted his hot skin on hers.
     
    Oh, she wanted that so bad! She’d thought she’d felt horny before. She’d done some experimenting. She’d gotten one of the candles her mom kept stocked for the dining room centerpiece, and she’d…explored…a little and made herself feel pretty good. But she’d never felt anything like what she was feeling right now. If he threw her down on the sidewalk and just fucked her, she wouldn’t stop him. In fact, she’d cheer.
     
    He groaned again, louder this time, and she realized she was moving,