So why I lean forward to catch his stupidly full lips with my own, I have no fucking clue. Noah crowds me into the wall, both hands in my hair now, and when the hell did I grab his shirt? I don’t have a single brain cell left to make sense of this. Because Noah’s lips are on mine. Ruthless. Powerful. All-consuming. He’s kissing me. I’m kissing him. And it’s so much more than lackluster.
