Untitled Part 45

My heart continued to race, but for a very different reason. We were pressed together in the small space, his arm holding me close to him. I breathed him in with every stunted breath I took, acutely aware of how close he was and how that affected me.

He covered my hand, still on his lips, and placed a single kiss on my fingertips.

A jolt coursed down my spine.

Outside the closet, I continued to hear the voices, but I didn't know what was more dangerous—bolting from the closet and getting caught by the principal, or staying here with Brett.

In the darkness, I couldn't see his face, so I had no idea of his motives. For all I knew, this was just a continuation of his successful attempt to get a rise out of me by talking about sex. Only now, his lips were doing the talking in an unexpected way.

He took my hand and placed it on his chest, still holding me against him. His heart was drumming through his chest at the same breakneck speed as mine.

I held my breath, wondering what he was planning on doing next.

I didn't have to wait long. His fingers traveled up my arm to my shoulder, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. And yet despite the warmth that rushed through my veins, I shivered and pressed my body even closer to his.

His fingers continue up my neck, finally stopping under my chin. He tilted it up.

And somehow through the darkness, his lips found mine.

Oh, holy shit, I was kissing Brett Pederson!

Or to be more precise, he was kissing me.

It was a simple kiss, as far as kisses go. No tongue. No biting. Just the firm pressure of his lips moving against mine. Time seemed to stop, so I had no idea how long we stayed there. I only knew that when he tried to end it, my body protested.

I slipped my arm over his shoulder, threading my fingers through his short hair.

He froze, sucking in a breath and holding it.

Then I did the unthinkable. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him back.

Only my kiss was nowhere near as polite and restrained as his was. If I was going to slip into a moment of temporary insanity and make out with the quarterback, I was going to go all out. I pushed him back against the wall, my lips still glued to his. His grip loosened on me, and for a split second, I wondered if I had taken things too far. But when his hands reached under my shirt, I grew bolder, more aggressive.

My tongue traced the seam of his mouth, silently begging permission to enter. He wasted no time opening up to me and taking my breath away with his own skills. We kissed like two starving souls who couldn't get enough of each other, our tongues clashing as much now as they had with our verbal sparring over the last week and a half.

Only, I had to admit, I was enjoying this way, way more.

My hands roamed his hard body, from his broad shoulders to his firm ass that fit beautifully in my palms. He reciprocated, his hands kneading my behind while we continued to kiss like a couple heading straight for the bedroom instead of two students hiding from the principal.

I should've been shocked by my brazen actions. I should've been horrified that I enjoyed making out with Brett as much as I did.  I should've remembered why we were hiding in a dark janitor's closet that smelled faintly of bleach in the first place. But any mental capacity I had flew out the door the moment Brett pressed my fingers against his mouth and started this dangerous chain reaction.

My breath was coming hot and heavy, and my hips started rocking in a seductive tempo that matched the movements of our tongues. A soft moan rose from one of our throats—I couldn't tell whose. One of Brett's hands got tangled up in my hair, massaging my scalp and encouraging me to continue.

Trust me, I had no intention of stopping at the moment. I only wanted to take things further. I dragged my hands over his shoulders, searching for the buttons of his shirt. One by one, I unfastened them until I could freely explore the planes of his chest.

He followed my lead, his hands under my T-shirt, slowly tugging it up and forcing me to end our game of tonsil hockey long enough to pull it over my head.

And I was so glad he did. My bra stayed on, but otherwise, I was chest to chest with him. The heat of his bare skin against mine awakened a new level of desire, of longing, of sensations I never dreamed possible. I'd always wondered how Morgan could easily hook up with guys she hardly knew for a few rounds of wild, hot sex. Now I knew. Brett and I were already half-naked, and I didn't want to stop. It felt so wicked, so indulgent.

So damn good.

Brett had been right—sex was definitely a stress reliever. My cares were as far away as they could possibly be, and we still had our pants on.

And speaking of pants, the ever-hardening ridge beneath his shorts let me know that he was as turned on as I was—maybe more. Based on the way he was grinding against me, he wasn't making any effort to hide his attraction, either.

The dynamics slowly shifted. Now, he was the one calling the shots. He was the one pressing me against the cold metal door that contrasted with the burning flesh of our bodies. He was the one exploring my curves with his hands, cupping my ass first and then working his way up to my breasts. Each touch awakened a new level of wantonness in me. Each stroke left me begging for more.

My lungs were working overtime to the point where I grew dizzy, forcing me to tear my lips away from his long enough to breathe.

That didn't stop Brett, though. His mouth moved to my ear. "Damn it, Lexi," he groaned.

I couldn't find the words. I just held on to him since he was the only thing keeping me from sliding onto the floor at the moment.

He reached behind me, trying to unhook my bra while my shoulder was in his mouth. The series of nips and gentle sucks along that area of skin nearly turned me to Jell-O and erased any outrage I thought I might have felt about a guy trying to get past second base. At this point, I was praying for a home run.

I wanted Brett Pederson more than I had wanted any other guy in my life, and at that moment, I was willing to do whatever he wanted as long as he continued kissing me.

A loud bang shook the walls, and Brett's head snapped up from my neck.

The heat from our blissful make-out session vanished, and the cold reality of our situation crashed into me like an eighteen-wheeler.

I was half naked in a janitorial closet with the one guy I had no chance of ever having a serious relationship with. The one guy who was part of a crowd that stood for everything I looked down on.

The one guy who was so wrong and yet was dangerously right.

"Shit!" I shoved him away and crossed my arms over my chest.

"Lexi, what—"

"Oh my God," I whispered as I blindly searched for my T-shirt. My legs quivered, threatening to give out on me as the blood rushed back to my head. What had I just done?

My shirt was hanging from the mop handle. I yanked it over my head and wasted no time feeling for the doorknob. I didn't care if we got caught and accused of smoking pot any more. I was already one step away from the loony bin, and suspension would probably be my saving grace. I just needed to get away from Brett before he touched me, before he kissed me again and took me back to brink of insanity.

I stumbled out into the locker room, pressing my hands against my flaming hot cheeks while I gulped in the cool air. Coach Dittmer and the principal were gone. No one was there to witness Brett and me coming out of the closet with our rumpled clothes and wild hair.

A hand landed on my shoulder, and I jumped. "Lexi, tell me what's wrong."

What was wrong was that I was friggin' enjoying making out with him way more than I should. But I kept that to myself. I wasn't ready to admit that to anyone. Besides, Brett already had plenty of dirt on me after what just had happened. My voice shook as I said, "I've gotta go."

I ran for the door, tripping over benches and bumping into lockers along the way. I'd handle the bruises later. I just needed to get as far away from Brett as I could.

I didn't stop running until I got to my car. As I put on my seatbelt, I realized I'd put my shirt on backward and inside out, but I could fix that as soon as I got home. I drove away, waiting for the guilt and shame that were undoubtedly coming my way for losing control of myself like that, but they never came. My mind was the only part of me that was still going "shit, shit, shit," and that was only because I was still in shock that:

A)    Brett Pederson had kissed me

B)    I had kissed him back

C)    I really, really, REALLY enjoyed it. 

Yeah, definitely time to voluntarily commit myself.

I got home and dashed up to my room to change. When I removed my shirt, I noticed that it smelled like Brett. Any rational person would've thrown it in the laundry and walked away, but I still wasn't thinking rationally yet. I was too busy remembering how good it felt in his arms. I lay down on my bed and cuddled with the balled-up T-shirt, holding it close to my nose and breathing it in as I replayed those crazy, but oh so pleasurable, moments in the closet with Brett over and over again.

Tomorrow was going to suck.

But I'd deal with it tomorrow.