My lips stayed parted, breath shaky, but nothing came out. And he saw it. He felt the way my pulse jumped under his thumb instead of slowing down.

His mouth came down on mine and I stopped pretending I’d ever wanted him to stop.

The kiss was rough at first—months of frustration and stolen glances and nights I’d gone home aching poured into it. His lips were firm, warm, tasting like the whiskey he’d been sipping behind the bar all night. His tongue pushed past mine without asking and I opened for him instantly, whimpering into his mouth when he angled deeper, taking more. One big hand slid into my...