Puck Around And Fall
His breath mingled with mine, warm and minty.
“I’m falling for you,” he whispered. “Hard. And I don’t want to stop.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. I rose on my toes, meeting him halfway.
The kiss was everything the bonfire almost-kiss wasn’t—slow, deep, desperate. His free hand slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I tasted salt from practice and the faint sweetness of the gum he always chewed. He groaned softly when I nipped his bottom lip, pressing me harder into the truck door. Snow melted on our skin as the kiss turned hotter, tongues sliding, hands roaming under jackets until we were both breathing ragged.