Passion in Portland 2016 Anthology

by Anthology

  I must have zoned out as the words tumbled out of my mouth because I don’t see Sean coming. His lips crash into mine. They’re unforgiving, possessive and desperate when he’s finally given open access.

  Initially, my lips freeze at the contact, confused. They don’t quite understand until his mouth continues to move over mine, helping motivate my own. Instead of the bitter lime between us, I’m able to savor his natural sweetness.

  My mind scrambles for an understanding, but my body doesn’t seem to care. There isn’t a chance in hell I fight it either. My lips take only seconds before acclimating to his hungry pace.

  Sean whispers a groan that vibrates gently against my mouth, as if he’s fighting the logical need to pull away but can’t seem to stop. His lips part mine, his tongue dipping into my mouth, tasting my want.

  I lift my hands, touching my palms to his stomach, dragging up the thin material of his baseball tee, defining each sinewy line underneath. I wrap my fingers around a clump of the fabric of his shirt, trying to steady myself, wanting him so much closer.

  Reading my desperation, his hips push into mine pleadingly, and with one final lapping stroke and drag of my tongue against his, I pull away, allowing our bodies a moment to breathe.

  He licks over his lips as he gives me a searing electric blue stare.

  My mouth opens, tempted to kiss him more, afraid for the moment to end, or hell, for it to disappear in a cruel dream sequence, but I manage to get a grip on words.

  “So, did you really have a dream about me last night?”

  His feral look softens as a few dumbfounded chuckles tumble from his mouth. “Of course you want to start there. Yeah, I did, Pagemaster,” He brushes his lips from side to side, feather-light over mine. “It was a weird recreation of our talk last night. Instead of you running away when I told you I was leaving, you gave me a hard time about it. You actually talked to me before you chased me to my car, threw a fucking hissy fit, and tried leaving me before I chased you down and kissed you stupid. I think that’s how I truly wanted last night to go.”

  I purse my lips together, the tip of my nose almost touching his. The corners of my mouth slip dopily upward. “That all sounds like things I’d do.”

  He shakes his head; a tight chuff of a laugh escapes him. “But you didn’t, and that’s when I realized something was up between us. It might’ve been like something you would do … if you liked me. Instead, you just walked out, and I didn’t know what it meant. I thought I might’ve made up how you felt for me in my head. Then, I realized you’re simply just more fucked up than me.”

  An actual snort escapes me. “Of course I’m more fucked up.”

  “I had this big plan to come into work to figure you out. I had grand plans of getting the truth out of you tonight, but I was terrified by it all. Especially when I walked in and you didn’t say anything to me. I had no idea how to deal with you. This was not the Paige I knew. Even if you would’ve said ‘fuck you, Sean’ I would’ve figured it out more quickly, but nope, you just gave me the silent treatment.”

  “I figured it was easy for you to leave.”

  He pulls away enough for me to get a full glimpse of his incredulous wide-eyed huff. “Easy, Paige? Are you kidding me? Why do you think I waited until the last minute to tell you? I didn’t want every moment I saw you after to feel like goodbye.”

  Goodbye?

  “Is that was this is?” leaves my lips in barely a whisper. It’s the one thing I’ve been unsure I could handle.

  He shakes his head, leaning his forehead against mine. “Not if I can help it.”

  Before I can ask what he means, his soft lips press into mine. Slow appreciative strokes caress mine until our momentum swiftly gathers. “I’ve always imagined what it would be like to kiss you.”

  It’s such a sickeningly sweet thing for him to say, something you might associate with an infatuated teen. However, Sean makes it so devilishly hot and far from boyish. Each syllable hotter than the one previously, and I’m soaking.

  My hands tighten on the clump of his shirt, and I release an incriminating moan against his mouth as his hands slide leisurely up my neck to cup my face, anchoring my lips to his.

  “Where else have you imagined kissing me?” I exhale.

  Pulling away, he replies without an ounce of hesitation, “I’ve imagined kissing you here.” He leans in to place a sweet kiss right below my ear, and then places another on my neck. “Here,” He adds another kiss at the base of my neck at my collar bone, sending a thrill down my spine. “And right here.”

  “Mm-hmm,” I fight a squirm, needing him to soothe all the tingling he’s causing wherever he touches me, like little thunderstorms erupting on the surface of my skin.

  His mouth is back against mine. “Just so you know, it’s much better than I’ve imagined so far.”

  I giggle against his mouth. My hands sliding up his neck, my fingertips gently dragging against his scalp. “Sean,” I moan. It’s as much a plea as it is permission.

  Whether this is goodbye or not, I don’t think there’s anything more important than this moment right now.

  Sean tastes like peace of mind and insane adventure packed into one stupidly hot man. I can’t seem to find a reason to stop anymore.

  I know it’s selfish, too. It’s selfish of both of us. He’s being greedy before he leaves, and I’m desperate to have a taste, regardless that this is probably a one-time thing. I can’t tell which is more pathetic, but I don’t care. He feels too good.

  He releases my face and moves his hands to my hips. They swiftly curve over my ass, giving it a tight squeeze before lifting me onto the table without much effort.

  It’s hard to suppress the whiny gasp that escapes me as my legs involuntarily open to wrap around his hips

  His lips take a few more hard possessive strokes against mine before moving over my jaw as his hands slide down my thighs, pulling us as close as possible. His torso tight against mine, I can feel every lean muscle contracting with each sexually charged movement. His abs tight, his broad chest quickly rising and falling.

  It sends my senses into a tailspin, yet somehow with one more exhale my mouth slips into words. “This is crazy,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, it is,” he says taking my ear lobe between his teeth, nibbling at it, sending a pinging sensation right between my legs. This time I don’t restrain the moan that I whine into his ear. “But it’s fucking awesome, whatever this is. I’m kinda crazy for you, Paige.”

  I pull away to put my gaze level with his, and although his words come out a bit shaky, his tight smirk says he means every one.

  My hands refuse to acknowledge the moment. They move to his waist, touching the smooth, bare skin above the waistband of his jeans under his shirt.

  “Now you’re being really crazy,” I reply.

  “Everything drives me crazy. The dudes you flirt with. The way you smile at me. These insanely tight jeans.” His hands squeeze at my thighs, curving his right one to my inner thigh, trailing upward to my throbbing core. “Paige …” he groans.

  It’s the way my name sounds on his lips that has my mind trying to keep this longer than I should want. It all feels so far from wrong. It’s just so right. His mouth. His words. His skin. This moment. I have the craziest idea come over me that I know could ruin everything, but if I never get a chance to ask the one thing that could solve all of this, I’d never forgive myself. If he’s still thinking about leaving, he has to know what I really want.

  I open my mouth to tell him my crazy thought, but his hands falter on my thighs and his lips shift away from me.

  He opens his mouth, as if knowingly beating me to the punch line. “Come with me to San Francisco,” he says with such effortless nonchalance that it has me questioning which one of us might be more insane.

  I attempt words, but only a long-winded exhale emerges as my heart rate reaches light speed.

  I’m dreaming right? My eyes dart back and forth between his two bright bl
ue ones in disbelief, thrown by his non-question. It was a statement; a polite request, really. The trembling that started at my knees suddenly crawls up my legs and swirls around in my gut before expanding in my chest.

  “Panic,” he blurts out into the silence, reading my look. “I know. I feel it too.”

  “Insanity,” I reply incoherently, adding to his adjectives for the situation.

  “Yeah, that too.”

  We laugh. He buries his head into the crook of my neck, the tip of his nose rubbing back and forth over my collarbone.

  This move makes me melt. It’s totally simple and endearing, and utterly out of our realm of everything, but he does it so naturally, and that’s terrifying.

  I exhale again. “I was going to ask you to stay here with me.”

  His arms around my waist tighten, and I find the returning squeeze I give just as natural.

  He sighs, putting us nose to nose, our lips almost touching. “I can’t stay, Paige. If I could, I’d stay. I’d stay with you, because you’re the only thing that’s always made sense to me, no matter how stubborn and irrational you are.”

  I shake my head, fighting my reflexive smile and ignoring my bubbling nerves. “If I make so much sense, why can’t you stay?”

  “Because, I think I need you to come with me. I worked so hard for this moment. I need you to keep me in line. I need you in this next chapter of my life. What’s keeping you here? The bar? What else? I want to see you branch out.”

  I lick over my lips, trying to think of some valid reason that would make me stay. I’ve got nothing. The only thing possibly keeping me here is Sean, and he’s leaving. Other than that, what roots do I have? It’s a staggering thought.

  “You’re so much more than this bar and its weirdos. You’re too smart to let your erratic genius go to waste, too.” He presses a kiss to the tip of my nose. “I know we barely started this whole me-and-you thing about twenty minutes ago, and I know I sound like a lunatic, but what if we did this? What if you came with me? I know all your reasons to say no: a job, money, a place to live. I get it. But I’m telling you—I’m asking, pleading really, for you to take this leap with me. I can take care of you. We can even argue about how much you hate that fact as much as you want when we’re there. I’ll help you look for a job, and you’ll have my bed to sleep in.” He pauses to watch my dopey smile form. “Think of it this way, all I’m asking for is you. You have a degree in business marketing. Don’t waste it. Maybe I’m being a bit selfish asking you to come with me because I’m not ready to let you go after barely getting you, but you need this as much as I do. I can’t stay. I have my dream to follow, and I want you to find your own dream. We can start this new adventure together. You might hate it; it’s possible. You can always leave my sorry ass, but there’s nothing keeping you here. Why not take this stupid risk with me? Come with me, Paige. Be stupid with me.”

  It is such a stupid plan, but I strangely love the way he’s asked me. “So, is this one of your brilliant ideas, again?”

  He nods. “Yeah it is. The same one usually laced with a bit of idiocy, as you so eloquently put it earlier.”

  “I would love to.”

  He freezes, his hold on me flinching in brief thought. “Love to what?”

  “I’d love to go with you to San Francisco,” I say completely to ease his adorable doubt.

  “Really?” he chokes out, blinking rapidly. “I was totally ready to beg.”

  I shake my head. “You’re the only thing that makes sense to me. Even if it doesn’t make sense at all.” I pause as we share another absurd laugh at how none of this seems be logical and how we don’t care. “I can’t think of anything more worth the risk.”

  “You need this. I want to see you do something awesome. I don’t want to see you stay here even if it wasn’t me asking you.”

  I smile. “I think I need you.”

  He presses his lips to mine, and it’s beautifully possessive and inspiring all at once. This is happening; it’s really happening.

  “You don’t need me. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for. I’m just a plus.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yep”

  We laugh and laugh, kiss some more, and we make love on the pool table before he drives me home so we can go pack for his brilliantly idiotic plan, and I can’t remember being so happy, let alone actually having a direction.

  And to think, all I had to do was say yes.

  About the Author

  Alex Rosa lives in San Diego, California. When she isn’t scouring city parks or cafe’s to write she is more than likely trying to convince her friends to join her on her next adventure. A sufferer of wanderlust, she is always looking for a new mountain to climb, a canyon to hike, or a plane to board. Her resume consists of coroner, to working at a zoo, and most recently as an executive assistant, but finds her home amongst words, whether it be in books, or in film. Her obsessions are on the brink of bizarre, but that’s just the way she likes it.

  Website: www.authorarosa.com

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/author.arosa/

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/oh_alexrosa

  Instagram: instagram.com/oh_alex/

  Kiss Cam – Anie Michaels

  He was the stranger at the basketball game whose girlfriend was dumping him at halftime.

  I was just the girl who scored tickets to that night’s game.

  When the camera operators put our faces on the Jumbotron for the Kiss Cam, it was out of pure desperation, humiliation, and peer pressure that I even pressed my lips against his.

  The kiss was supposed to be quick, meaningless, and comical. Instead it was hot, delectable, and toe-curling.

  But it was just a kiss and he was just a stranger.

  Unless…

  Chapter One

  Riley

  **OMG, you have to hurry back. I think the guy sitting next to me is getting dumped by his girlfriend. AWKWARD!**

  I hit Send on my text message and then subtly looked to my right to make sure the man sitting next to me wasn’t reading my screen over my shoulder. Luckily—for me, not for him—he was too busy being dumped to notice I was texting about him.

  “I’m just sick and tired of always coming in third on your list of priorities.” His girlfriend was obviously so over their relationship and honestly, just by looking at them, I couldn’t really see why they were together at all. They couldn’t have been more opposite if they’d tried.

  He looked like he belonged in Portland—slight scruff of a beard, as if he’d skipped shaving a few days, longish brown hair, baseball-style shirt with sleeves pushed up to his elbows, jeans that looked just tight enough to hug his thighs (which, by the way, were like eye magnets since I hadn’t stopped staring at them since he sat down next to me), and shoes that looked like they’d been worn in the rain. He was attractive, but he wasn’t start-a-fight-in-the-middle-of-a-Blazer-game attractive.

  I came to watch the game. To see the players. To drink the beer. And these people were slowly but surely ruining my night. Well, her more than him.

  She was high maintenance. No doubt about it. Her hair was styled. Not just fixed or done, but styled. She’d paid someone to do her hair for the game. Her nails were fake, so were her lashes, and I was sure not all that hair was hers either. Her shoes were completely unrealistic for the stadium, with heels taller than my beer glass. Her halter top was sequined, her pants too tight.

  I tried not to appear like I was eavesdropping on their breakup, but I totally was. The Blazers were kicking ass and up by fifteen points, so I could spare a little attention to the drama in the seat next to me.

  “We’ve been dating for, like, two weeks. How fast were you expecting to climb ranks, Sophia? I’m not ditching my grandma’s hundredth birthday party to go to your cousin’s husband’s nephew’s bar mitzvah.”

  **Seriously, you have to hurry! I think she’s going to throw her drink in his face!**

  “Is this how it’s
always going to be? If we get married, is your family always going to come before me?”

  “Married? Sophia, this is our third date. We’re not getting married.”

  My eyebrows spiked toward the ceiling and I couldn’t help but turn to watch her head explode.

  “If you don’t see us getting married, then why are we even doing this?”

  His head dropped into his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “I have no idea.”

  I felt really badly for the guy. I almost wanted to pat him on the back and give him some encouraging words. We’re not all batshit crazy, guy with amazing hair and freakishly sexy thighs. Trust me, there’re normal girls out there.

  “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t put me first, Camden.”

  I heard him take in a deep breath, and then watched out of the corner of my eye as he lifted his head and turned to her. “You’re right, Sophia. You deserve so much better than I can offer. I think it’s best if you leave me behind and move on, try to find someone worthy of all your beauty and grace.”

  Sophia was silent for a moment and I desperately wanted to fully turn my head and eat my cotton candy like I was in a movie theatre.

  “You’re going to regret pushing me away. I’m the best woman you’ll ever manage to get, and you’re just going to let me walk away.” Her head was so high, she was literally looking down her surgically-altered, slim little nose at him. She seriously sounded like she was about to splash her Diet Coke all over him. If she ruined my pleather jacket, I was going to freak. “Have fun watching your boring little baseball game.”

  Luckily, she decided to take her beverage with her, toddled down the aisle in her five-inch stilettos, and slowly climbed the stairs to the exit. Her boyfriend, er, ex-boyfriend, watched her go for a few seconds, but then let out a huge sigh and then turned back to face the court. He must have noticed my curious stare because he caught my eye. All I could offer was a sheepish smile. The very corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided smile, but then he looked toward the court once more.