He Kissed Me First (Kiss & Make Up Book 2)

by Sara H Ney

  I smack him in the chest. “Ha ha very funny.”

  “What? I think it’s a terrific idea. Give it some more thought before rejecting it completely.”

  “You know, we can have fun with her without you fondling my breasts. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

  Matthew rolls his eyes. “Well that’s no fun. Can we be kissing or something in the picture?” He pokes at his screen a few times and opens Snapchat.

  I don’t question the ‘or something’ part of his statement, instead sighing in resignation. “Sure, why not.”

  “Oh goodie. Here, get closer,” Matthew instructs as grabs my hips and pulls me across his lap, holding his cell phone out in front of us with one arm, the other holding me firmly around the waist.

  He gives me a sidelong glance. “Pucker your pretty lips.”

  I pucker my lips and giggle.

  “Last chance on the breast fondling. Going once... twice...”

  “Would you just take the damn picture?” I burst out, laughing.

  His face is next to mine, and I can feel his breath on my neck. “You always were so impatient,” he murmurs. “What else are you impatient for?”

  At his sexual innuendo, I tilt my head to glare at him and it’s that moment he leans forward and plants one square on my lips; that full on, every centimeter of our lips pressed together, no room for air kind of kiss. My eyes flutter closed involuntary, and the click of the camera barely registers in my subconscious as my lips part and his tongue slips into my mouth.

  He lowers his picture taking arm, dropping his phone to the rug before both hands grip my waist. Then his hands snake around to my back, running them up and down my spine, his fingers kneading each vertebra and melting my insides like cheap, pliant, putty in his masculine hands.

  He buries his nose in my neck, both planting kisses inside the open collar of my flannel shirt, and inhaling the smell of me at the same time. I guess he really wasn’t joking when he said he loved the way I smelled...

  My hands roam his upper torso and I run them up inside, then under, the arm holes of his soft gray tee shirt, squeezing and memorizing every cord of his firm shoulders and brawny biceps. He flexes them as I run my smooth palms over his skin further into his shirt, and groans when my warm fingers graze his collarbone.

  Innocently.

  Sensually.

  Both at the same time.

  Leaning down, I lavish kisses on his temples where his sideburns and freshly shaved face meet. He tips his head like a kitten still wanting to be petted, and I oblige him by trailing my lips along his jaw and nipping his ear with my tongue.

  He practically purrs his approval and returns the favor by nudging my chin and giving my jaw a few flirty licks. Not the wet sloppy licking you’re probably envisioning; no. Matthew’s tongue playfully slides along my skin like a wave on the water - smooth and leaving ripples in its wake. It’s teasing and gentle and it’s driving me mad with desire.

  I didn’t think it was possible, but maybe I have a little kink in me after all... Not that what we’re doing is Fifty Shades of Gray kind of stuff, but under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t let some guy lick my neck. It’s just not my style, and if it were anyone else doing it to me I might feel weird, or gross.

  But the fact that Matthew Wakefield has his glorious tongue on me...? Great Jesus, Mary and Joseph - I’ve died and gone to heaven. Raging hormones be damned.

  My hands work their way from his biceps, to his forearms, to his wash board abs. He sucks in a breath as my fingers skim the waistband of his well-worn jeans, the anticipation palpable. Unfortunately, grabbing a guy’s junk isn’t exactly my style either, so my hands reach down between us, bypassing his erection and heading for his inner thighs instead. I rest them there, kneading his quads through the denim, marveling that, even at rest, his physical strength is evident.

  I bet he could bench press me... bet that I’d let him... bet that I’d squeal with delight.

  There is no sound in the room except for our heavy breathing; no radio, no cell phones beeping, no sounds from the traffic outside. And even if there were, I wouldn’t have registered it anyways - my brain is mush.

  Apparently Matthew’s isn’t, because before I can register him lifting me up, he’s carrying me down the hallway to his bedroom and plopping me in the center of his bed.

  I fall flat on my back, hair fanned out (attractively, I’m sure), knees bent, and cheeks flushed.

  For a moment, he does nothing but stand next to the bed, staring down at me shamelessly as if deciding his next move; unabashed, I stare back. Mind made up, Matthew crawls on to the bed and sidles up next to me, pulling me into his body and propping his head in his hands, looking down at me before planting a kiss on my forehead.

  Then another.

  He reaches over, brushing the hair away from my temples, before planting a kiss there as well.

  One kiss.... Two.

  I reach up and capture the back of his head, pulling it down towards my mouth; our lips and tongues meet, reintroducing themselves like two long-lost friends, never having missed a beat.

  My fingers stroke the back of his head, weaving through his thick, silky hair, pulling and tugging him closer. His large hands cup my neck, stroking my collar bone through my plaid flannel shirt, until his index finger finds and fiddles with the top button.

  “Can we take this shirt off?” He asks, his teeth raking my lower lip. “It’s in my way.” Wordlessly I comply, facilitating the task of unbuttoning it, until Matthew abandons the project completely, leaving me to go at it alone so his hands can explore my skin - which I am one hundred thousand percent okay with.

  My shirts spreads open; skin is exposed, hands tangle with my bra. His head bends, and his wet mouth covers me with more kisses - this time on my stomach, ribcage and breasts.

  Call me lazy, but I lay there like a tart - unmoving, letting him lavish me with attention.

  Soon his shirt disappears; followed by my bra... lots of panting and moaning... roaming hands... our underwear and pants.

  Everything lands on the floor, clothes tossed haphazardly about the room. The only light is streaming in from outside, casting shadows on our entwined, naked bodies.

  One of us has the good sense to put on a condom - I’m assuming it was him (but I may have helped) - and now he’s on top of me, his beautiful pelvis hard at work, forearms flexed and braced on each side of my head.

  I let out a gasp, then a moan - he feels so good and it’s been so so long. Matthew dips his head, seeking out my aching lips in the dark, sucking on my bottom lip and grinding his hips into me at the same time.

  He gasps my name in a long, anguished sigh.

  I can’t tell yet if we’re just having sex, or making love, but raw emotions are taking over in depths of my soul that I’ve never explored yet, so it’s no surprise I feel tears escape from the corner of my eyes. I thank God it’s dark in here (although I’m not sure I should be praying during this particular activity, if you know what I’m saying). It’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out “I love you” - but sex ‘I love you’ can have absolutely catastrophic effects... so I keep it to myself.

  A few more moans, more gasping; soon we’re laying side-by-side, chests heaving from the exertion. Matthew reaches down and pulls the covers up and over us, reaching for my hand and bringing it up to his mouth. He kisses my palm before laying it on his still heaving chest.

  Hope blossoms in my heart, and I snuggle up next to him. We don’t talk... but we don’t fall asleep either (like so many romance novels like to depict when a couple finally ‘does the deed’). I mean - it’s not like its two in the morning or something; it’s only eleven o’clock for crying out loud.

  “Sweetie, don’t get too comfortable. I have to go get rid of this thing,” Matthew whispers in the dark, sliding out of bed and disappearing into the master bathroom. A few seconds later I hear the toilet flush, the sink run, and he’s climbing back into his big, comfortable bed.

&
nbsp; He slides in next to me, planting a kiss on my naked shoulder, and I shiver before he pulls the covers back up over both of us. Like he did earlier in the evening, he buries his nose in my hair and takes a whiff. “I’m not really tired,” he chuckles. “Are you?”

  My mind is reeling. Honestly; I hardly know what to say or how to proceed. I mean, I just had sex - really, really incredibly amazing sex - with Matthew Wakefield. And now, we’re laying naked in his bed and he’s talking to me like we’re discussing the weather.

  Or like... the casual banter you’d have with a boyfriend or girlfriend after just having had sex with them.

  I let my head fall against a pillow and sigh, throwing my arms up behind my head. The motion pulls the covers down, and the cold air of his bedroom hits my exposed breasts. I giggle nervously, quickly pulling the covers back up: I mean - I’m comfortable with him, but not comfortable enough to have ‘the girls’ exposed to his roving eyes.

  Even if it’s dark.

  As if he can read my thoughts, I can hear him smirking in the dark, and his hand moves under the covers to graze my stomach, roaming gently and hitting all my sensitive spots. “I could stare at your boobs all day,” he teases before palming one lazily, then the other. I have to bite my bottom lip and concentrate to stop myself from moaning out loud. “Hell, I could stare at you all day... that is, if you’d let me.”

  Oh lord.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Matthew

  “Sometimes I miss him. But then I remember what a douche he was, and how awesome I am.” - Jenna about her ex-boyfriend Aaron.

  Even sitting in just her plaid flannel shirt, Cecelia is sexy. Cross legged on my couch and clutching a white carton of Chinese take-out leftovers in one hand, she has my remote control in the other.

  “Anything look appealing?” she asks, flipping past CSPAN, CNN, and ESPN, her head bent at a cute little angle as she studies the screen over my fireplace. “There isn’t shit on,” she grumbles. Her eyes get real wide and she looks at me, guilty from her vulgar slip. “Um, sorry?”

  “I see something appealing, alright,” I cross the room and plop down on the couch next to her, plucking the carton and remote from her hands. “It’s wearing a cute little button down shirt and nothing else, and it screams my name when it comes.”

  “Oh my god.” Her cheeks gets bright red and she grabs a pillow, burying her face completely in it. After a few seconds, she raises her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “I do not scream.”

  I wave my hand airily. “Semantics; moaning, screaming - whatever you want to call it.”

  “Why are we having this conversation? You said you wanted food.”

  “Correction: I did want food. But you’re just so damn cute sitting there all... post-coital. It’s turning me on again. Come on, let’s do it on the couch.” I reach for her, but she slaps my hands away, laughing.

  “I’m not doing it with you on the couch. Try again later. Give me back that Bok Choy.”

  But I’m undeterred (perseverance is one of my best qualities) and try again. “So... you’re not necessarily saying ‘no’ to the couch sex...?”

  She pins me down with a stare - okay, it’s more of a glare - but doesn’t say anything until, “Did you send the SnapChat to Molly that you took before?”

  “No. It was pretty racy. I think I’ll keep it for myself and jerk off to it when I’m out of town.” She stares again, this time with her mouth hanging open. “Shit. Did I say that out loud?”

  Newsflash: I’m always saying shit like that out loud.

  I ignore her look of horror and forge on. “Want to take another one? We can pretend we have all our clothes on.” I wink at her, earning yet another blush for the evening.

  “Okay, but this time you come sit on my lap,” Cecelia pats her legs, which I can’t help noticing are tan and smooth - which makes me really want to touch them... idly run my palms up in between them...

  Crap. I can’t stop the dirty thoughts and lick my lips, which causes Cecelia to snap her fingers in front of my face. “Hey buddy, stop daydreaming. Eyes up here.”

  Gee. I guess we know who’s going to wear the pants in this relationship: not me.

  At this point she could tell me to get on the floor, roll around and bark like a dog - and I would do it. Not that I’m going to be divulging that information to her. No. No guy wants a woman to know how much control she has over him, but... you know. Just saying.

  Cecelia is amazing.

  Sexy. Smart. Funny. Beautiful inside and out.

  And the most attractive quality of all: she puts up with my bullshit. Have I mentioned this before? Well. Even if I have, so what?

  She’s not perfect, but she’s mine. Or more like, I’m hers.

  Looking at her now, curled up on my couch patting her lean legs, I want her to curl up on me. Instead, she takes the carton of Bok Choy off the coffee table and sucks a long noodle through her pursed lips, the juice making a messy sucking sound as she inhales it, not looking one bit appalled by her lack of table manners. She looks at me and shrugs, as if to say ‘oops, sorry’ before wrapping another long noodle around the fork.

  “I’m not kidding Cecelia. I can’t sit here and watch you eat that shit without wanting to peel that shirt off you and drag you back to the bedroom.”

  “Are you nuts? You’re either blind or a complete lunatic. I have my mouth stuffed with noodles. How can you possibly be turned on right now?” She asks sarcastically as she swallows, rolling her eyes at the ceiling.

  Um, maybe it’s because I can see her nipples through the gaps in her shirt when she moves her arms; however, far be it from me to mention this fact. “Trust me. It’s possible.”

  She tosses her long, mussed-up sex hair over one shoulder and sasses, “Well you’re just going to have to wait.”

  “How can I convince you,” I ask, whining a little bit and trying to look pathetic, hoping maybe she’ll take pity on me and rip off her panties.

  Cecelia takes another long drag of Bok Choy and tips her chin at an indignant angle, sighing. “You can’t.”

  “Fine. Then let’s at least take a Snap and send it to my sister.”

  I sit move closer to her on the couch, grabbing my phone and opening the app.

  Cecelia gulps, eyeing my chest nervously. “Um, aren’t you going to at least put your shirt back on?”

  “Hell no. My sister deserves to be frazzled by our after-sex selfie. It’ll serve her right for being so damn nosy. Now get closer.” I take the noodles from her again, setting them back on the table, and put my arm around her - and since I’m a head taller, try to look down her shirt.

  What?! I’m a guy. It’s what we do...

  I hold the phone out in front of us as Cecelia slowly wraps her arms around my waist, her fingers tickling my ribcage and spine. “Hey, are you trying to molest me or give me a hug? Make up your damn mind.” I tease.

  “Both,” she smarts back, earning herself a smack on the lips. I let my mouth linger on hers before pulling away, sucking on her tongue before releasing her to clear my throat and get back to the task at hand.

  “Okay. On three. One... two... ten.”

  I snap the picture, and afterwards, we put our heads together to study the image on my phone.

  Wow, is all I can say. Just... wow.

  **Cecelia**

  We look... so...

  Well, okay, honestly - we look like we’ve just had raucous sex. My hair is a rat’s nest, and it’s pretty obvious my shirt has been hastily re-buttoned (and not very well). I have slight beard rash on my chin from Matthew’s five o’clock shadow, and my lips are slightly puffy and swollen. Even from the profile, you can tell I’ve been thoroughly kissed.

  Matthew, for his part, looks cocky and well... perpetually horny. Like he’s just bagged a conquest and is damn proud of it. His lips are twisted in a sardonic smile, but it’s his eyes that give him away. Rather than the arrogant look I’m sure he was going for, they look oddly... content.

/>   In the quickly snapped picture, I’m placing an open mouth kiss on his collarbone with my eyes closed; and, while Matthew has his eyes open and is staring straight into the camera lens, his fingers are curled around my neck almost possessively and his smiling lips are buried in my hair.

  Sweet jeezuz do we look sexy.

  But besides that, we look so blissfully... happy.

  ***

  Later that next day, when I’m alone in my bedroom, I get a text.

  Matthew: What are you up to...?

  I cram a few books, a notepad and my ear buds into a Vera tote before tapping out a reply.

  Me: Getting ready to go write one last paper! You?

  Matthew: Trying to be so irresistible you won’t be able to find an excuse not to see me tonight. I’ll let you know when I come up with something...

  This makes me smile.

  Me: You’re headed in the right direction

  Matthew: Wow. You’re surprisingly easy.

  Me: Awww. That’s what all the boys say ;)

  Matthew: Wait. What?

  Me: LOL

  The phone pings again, but I’m interrupted by a knocking on my door frame, and I glace up to see Molly standing in the doorway of my bedroom, arms crossed and tapping her foot impatiently.

  “Do you have something you want to say to me?” she asks, stepping over the threshold and crossing the room to my desk, plopping herself down in the rolling chair. She swivels it around to face me, raising her eyebrow expectantly.

  “Um... I’m not sure what you’re... um....” I let my thought trail off, not sure what to offer up to her. I certainly can’t blurt out that I had sex with her brother last night, or that I spent the night at his condo, or that he’s quite possibly becoming my best friend.

  The phone on my bed pings again, breaking the silence but also making it more awkward because Molly and I both know who the ping-ing is.

  She pulls her cell out of her back pocket, taps it a few times, and holds it out.

  Not surprisingly, it’s the SnapChat photo of Matthew and I. My face heats up and I look away, embarrassed.

  “Molly, um....”

  “This is on his Snap Story, Cece. His Story.”