Before there were Love Coupons there was a delicious, ill-advised first kiss

This is the first kiss shared by Tom and Flick in The Love Coupon

Tom:

“It’s not so weird between us now.”

It was easier. He was grateful for that. The ride less bumpy.

“But we have this thing.”

Here came a corner, a sharp turn sending him back to the vision of Flick in her underwear, defiant and sexy as sin. “I shouldn’t have said what I said about your ass last night. I was half asleep and you were…it wasn’t a—”

“I liked it.” She got to her knees. “I like the way you look at me as if you’re afraid I’ll bite, as if you need a chair and a whip to tame me.”

Ah. Not a corner, a loop-the-loop.

“As if you’d like to find out what happens if you can’t.”

Roller coaster, wrecking ball.

“You look like my next mistake, Tom.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” It was a well-used dating app line. He knew exactly what she meant and he was up against the Gravitron’s wall.

“I think we should kiss.”

“No.” Any minute now the body-flattening equilibrium whirling would start. “Oh hell no.”

“Why? Because I’m messy and you’re tidy? I’m a ruthless politician and you’re a sage, set-in-his-ways boulder, huh?”

A what? “Because we live together.”

“That makes it convenient if we want to kiss again.”

“I’m your landlord. It would be inappropriate. There’s a power differential and I’d be taking advantage of you.”

She mocked with a shocked expression. “That almost makes me want to back the heck up.” The tone of voice was dry as an empty wine bottle.

He gave her a stern look. “It should.”

“Because you really think you’d be taking advantage of me.”

Because he could see it happening. His hand in Flick’s hair and those clever, rusty eyes of hers going big and dark. “I’m not kissing you.”

“You can always put the Tinder app back on your phone.”

“I don’t need the Tinder app.” But it would be safer to reinstall than to juggle Flick’s fire.

“I’m suggesting we kiss. We see if there is an itch and if we like the mutual scratch.”

He looked away from her, the picture of bored-with-this. But the idea was alive, a crackling tension in his muscles. “You can say it a dozen different ways. It’s not happening.”

“It would be a kiss. Not a vow of forever.”

“Flick, we’re awkward with each other. Kissing could only make it worse.” It would be a breakneck maneuver and he didn’t need the risk.

“Or better.”

“It’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“If you can’t handle me at my worst, you don’t deserve me at my best.” Another of those awful Tinder profile lines. She made a clack sound with her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

He heard it like the clang of the safety barrier on an amusement park ride buckling him in place. Things were about to get rough.

Flick:

“Tom, you have no trouble being dismissive. I think you want this kiss as much as I do.”

He passed his hand over his face. “Oh fuck.” His tone was full of repressed longing and his eyes—his eyes said he wanted and wanted. She put her hand to his shoulder and scooted closer. Last chance, buddy. You want out, do something about it.

His hand went to her cheek. The briefest, most tentative touch of his fingertips. “This is a terrible idea.”

“But you still want it.”

He touched her face again, but this time didn’t pull his hand away. He smoothed his fingertips over her cheekbone and slid them into her hair. His breathing was all out of rhythm and his pupils had blown out to dark wells of desire. This was reticent Tom, getting over himself, doing something about being kissed and doing it so gently and torturously slowly Flick’s own breathing clogged in her throat and she was helpless not to lean into the warm cradle of his hand. She wanted to touch more of him, feel his strength, the barely perceptible tremor in him, but she was frightened it would remind him this was real.

He angled his head and brushed his nose on hers. She tried to catch his lips and he pulled away, but only long enough to sweep his eyes over her face and decide. Oh please, please. When he brushed her nose again, he found her lips. A graze so light and brief it was like frosting, barely there but the best part of the cake. Neither of them pulled back.

“Sweet.” His breath over her chin. “Cotton candy.”

She moved her hand from the top of his shoulder to the back of his neck and their lips met again. This time with more pressure for longer. Oh yes, this was so very fine and smooth and achingly delicious.

They kissed the sweet to tart and all the way back again, breaking each movement, only to dive at it again, to push it a little harder, a little deeper, until she was tasting his whole mouth and he was tasting hers and it wasn’t enough. She had to press her hands into his chest and bring her knees up under her and lean into his body, feel the heat of him, the occasional tightening of his fingers in her hair.

“Good.” She licked the word over his lips.

“God.” He grazed his teeth on hers.

“More.”

“Shut up while I kiss you.”

There were more kisses, easy and light and stinging and lazy, and each one a delicious possession. She didn’t need to ask about crawling into his lap; he shifted to let her straddle his hips, her knees sinking into the cushions. She sat across his thighs while they kissed again and the sweet-tart got steamy when he cupped her breast. They’d reached the groping stage and she melted into it.

He didn’t melt, he heated. The arm around her back hauling her up his denim-clad thighs until she met the undeniable proof he was beautifully frustrated too.

She left his mouth to arch and flex against him. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached the dry-humping portion of tonight’s entertainment.”

Both hands on her ass, he rolled their hips, his eyes down to watch. “Stay seated, keep your hands inside the carriage at all times and enjoy the ride.”