Confessions of a Queen B*

Untitled Part 45

My heart continued to race, but for a very different reason. We were pressed together in the small space, his arm holding me close to him. I breathed him in with every stunted breath I took, acutely aware of how close he was and how that affected me.

He covered my hand, still on his lips, and placed a single kiss on my fingertips.

A jolt coursed down my spine.

Outside the closet, I continued to hear the voices, but I didn't know what was more dangerous—bolting from the closet and getting caught by the principal, or staying here with Brett.

In the darkness, I couldn't see his face, so I had no idea of his motives. For all I knew, this was just a continuation of his successful attempt to get a rise out of me by talking about sex. Only now, his lips were doing the talking in an unexpected way.

He took my hand and placed it on his chest, still holding me against him. His heart was drumming through his chest at the same breakneck speed as mine.

I held my breath, wondering what he was planning on doing next.

I didn't have to wait long. His fingers traveled up my arm to my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. And yet despite the warmth that rushed through my veins, I shivered and pressed my body even closer to his.

His fingers continue up my neck, finally stopping under my chin. He tilted it up.

And somehow through the darkness, his lips found mine.

Oh, holy shit, I was kissing Brett Pederson!

Or to be more precise, he was kissing me.

It was a simple kiss, as far as kisses go. No tongue. No biting. Just the firm pressure of his lips moving against mine. Time seemed to stop, so I had no idea how long we stayed there. I only knew that when he tried to end it, my body protested.

I slipped my arm over his shoulder, threading my fingers through his short hair.

He froze, sucking in a breath and holding it.

Then I did the unthinkable. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him back.

Only my kiss was nowhere near as polite and restrained as his was. If I was going to slip into a moment of temporary insanity and make out with the quarterback, I was going to go all out. I pushed him back against the wall, my lips still glued to his. His grip loosened on me, and for a split second, I wondered if I had taken things too far. But when his hands reached under my shirt, I grew bolder, more aggressive.

My tongue traced the seam of his mouth, silently begging permission to enter. He wasted no time opening up to me and taking my breath away with his own skills. We kissed like two starving souls who couldn't get enough of each other, our tongues clashing as much now as they had with our verbal sparring over the last week and a half.

Only, I had to admit, I was enjoying this way, way more.

My hands roamed his hard body, from his broad shoulders to his firm ass that fit beautifully in my palms. He reciprocated, his hands kneading my behind while we continued to kiss like a couple heading straight for the bedroom instead of two students hiding from the principal.

I should've been shocked by my brazen actions. I should've been horrified that I enjoyed making out with Brett as much as I did.  I should've remembered why we were hiding in a dark janitor's closet that smelled faintly of bleach in the first place. But any mental capacity I had flew out the door the moment Brett pressed my fingers against his mouth and started this dangerous chain reaction.

My breath was coming hot and heavy, and my hips started rocking in a seductive tempo that matched the movements of our tongues. A soft moan rose from one of our throats—I couldn't tell whose. One of Brett's hands got tangled up in my hair, massaging my scalp and encouraging me to continue.