Abigail
Of all the places I had imagined Finnegan Wolfe finally kissing me, at the backstage at his own launch was not on the list.
His lips were soft, softer than I had imagined in my dreams. That was the first thing that registered, which was absurd, because nothing else about this man was soft, but his mouth moved over mine with a slow, liquid movement, taking my mouth with his, melding and teasing my lips apart with his tongue.
My entire body screamed, my knees wobbled, the noise from the hall, the chatting and muscle fading into nothing as I gripped his shirt with both hands, taking fistfuls of the fabric and kissed him back.
He made a low sound against my mouth that vibrated through my chest and down my stomach, pooling between my thighs.
His hand slid from my jaw into my hair, tilting my head back, deepening the kiss. He tasted like whiskey, hot and delicious and God, I had missed this.
