First Kiss Friday
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Every Friday I share the first kiss from a book. This week it’s from my steamy hot new RH, Claw.
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“Ah!” I gasped, my back striking the wall. A picture frame jabbed into me, but I wasn’t in a position to complain. Cal pressed closer, first almost shoving his chest into mine, then his hips. His hand remained clamped over my chin. I kept picturing it sliding down to my throat to cut off my air. But he didn’t move it even while leaning nearer until he grazed the edge of my jaw with his teeth.
Shit. My legs wouldn’t stop trembling, my body wanting to fall to the ground and scamper away. But not all of it. Even as I hung on to his arm, my fingers toyed with the hard muscle clinging to me. With every swipe of his hips, the undeniable surge in his pants grew.
“Layla.” Calvin whispered my name as though he recognized me from across the street. I turned to him and he plunged his famished mouth over mine. Inescapable heat pulsed through me, Cal’s lips a hard snarl aching to own me. But the longer he kissed me, the softer they became. Almost tender and gentle, he slipped his tongue into my mouth. I answered back with mine. My body hummed with anticipation, my mind pleading for more. For me to taste all of him.
Loss. It flooded my senses and I opened my eyes to watch Calvin break off the kiss. His hand slipped from my face, though the other remained cradling my ass. Slowly, he licked his lips, causing a smile to twist across them. But he shook it off and said in a ragged voice, “You can go.”
“What?” I lost all focus, my head whipping to the side to see he’d kissed me right next to the door. He’d brought me to the door.
Calvin pulled in a slow breath and his smile turned winsome. “You asked to leave.”
Yes. I needed to get out. He could be a murderer. Except he’d been here that night…literally chained up. He’d chained himself up? To keep others safe? My heart fluttered at the idea and Calvin slunk back. He swiped at his neck like it was tough for him to breathe after our kiss. It tugged the sweater down, revealing a handful of blond chest hair begging to be freed.
He’s a werewolf.
Well, nobody’s perfect.
I fisted his hair, tugging his lips to mine while flattening my body against his. Cal grabbed on to my shirt and lifted it. But I wouldn’t stop kissing him, my lips craving his, my hands needing to run the length of his terrain. I worked under his sweater and swept my palm up his stomach. Abs, a tuft of soft hair, and…