his big hands tighten over my waist and tug me forward. It’s a quick, decisive move. One minute, I’m bent over him, the next I’m folding into his body. My palms land flat on the back of the bench as my mouth collides with his. I stiffen in shock. My brain struggles to make sense of the kiss. Then Alistair tilts his head, adjusting the angle. Suddenly, I don’t care about making sense of anything. Screw being rational. Screw worrying about where this leaves us tomorrow. I push into him, allowing my hands to skate over the back of his neck and into his soft hair. It feels like silk against my
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