“Sounds like someone else I know.”
He lightly tickles my belly button, and then tugs me to the set itself. It’s a replica of a department store that’s in shambles. There’s a prop zombie across a conveyor belt, looking grossly realistic. I see the food in our house has been put to good use for the bloody guts. I’m really trying not to freak out.
Landon pulls me to Jace and Chantal’s marks and gently rotates my shoulders. “This is where we shot the sex scene.”
“Eww.”
“Where else are you gonna get busy during a zombie apocalypse?”
“You don’t. You run like hell or just let yourself get bitten.”
“Which one are you?”
“Oh, I’ll be the very first zombie. You?”
“I’ll be the number-one zombie killer.”
“Looks like it’ll really be ‘till death do us part.’ ”
He chuckles and takes a step closer. My stomach whirls because he hasn’t stopped smiling since he spotted me. If I’d known he’d react like this, I would’ve visited the set way before now.
“It’s an off-screen sex scene for the most part,” he says, “and it’s not really sexy. More awkward.”
“So…it’s realistic,” I tease.
“You must be losing your memory. I’m a badass in the sack.”
“Maybe you should remind me.”
It’s out before I can tell my mouth to shut up. But it’s been a while since we flirted. We’ve been together for four years. Sleeping together for about the same. Our peas and carrots sex routine usually starts with “do you wanna?” and then we jump into bed. My lady parts have never been so excited just standing here, fully clothed, in the middle of something pretty public (and freaky-looking).
Landon’s eyebrows waggle, and it makes me snort because I’m hot like that, and he pulls me from the set, leads me down a cold and foggy hallway, down another, then into a room packed full of props. Rows upon rows of wardrobe choices line the left half of the room while the right half holds chairs, trees, fake weapons, and dismembered mannequins. There’s a barrel full of zombie-fied arms and legs. I walk up to it and poke at one of the fingers. “Gross.” I laugh under my breath.
The click of the lock makes me turn, and Landon tucks his hands into his pockets as he walks toward me.
“Why’d you lock the door?” I ask with a seductive lilt.
“Habit, I guess.”
“Then go unlock it.”
“It’s all the way over there.” He waves a hand behind him, and I roll my eyes back to the barrel of body parts. I notice a director’s chair and plop into it with a grin.
“I’ve always wanted to sit in one of these.” I wiggle my butt and cross my legs. “They need cup holders, though.”
“Built-in refrigerators.”
“Ooh, yes. Request that for your next movie.”
“If I get one.”
“You will.”
“I lucked out with the last grant.”
“I’m not talking about getting another grant. Some big-time studio is going to hire your ass and make you super famous.”
Half his mouth quirks up. “I hope my ass is up for it.”
I almost reach out and grab his sweet rear end, but I keep my hands firm on the chair. “Your ass is capable of many great things.”
His voice lowers. “You haven’t even seen any footage.”
“I don’t have to.” I swivel in the chair and point to the back fabric. “It’ll say Wangford right here someday.”
Landon doesn’t say anything, and that surprises me, so I flick my eyes back to him. His jaw is clenched, breathing labored, and he takes a confident step forward.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says. My eyebrows lift and I drop my gaze south. An uncontrollable smile forms on my lips. Well, hello there, Lord Landon.
“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms. “But it’s not against the rules.”
“I know.” He takes another step forward. “I’m still not going to kiss you.”
I take my lip between my teeth and play with it. He watches the movement, and I watch him watching, and it’s fun. We haven’t done this since we first started dating. And it hits me…I could win this thing right here and now. I can get him to cave. I just have to remember how to be seductive…
“Will you sit in the chair?” I ask him playfully, sliding from the seat.
“Why?”
“I want to see you in it.”
He gives me a suspicious look but obliges anyway. He has to adjust himself as he sits, and that makes my lower abdomen giddy. Calm down, girl. We’ve only just begun.
I stand back and obviously check him out. Playing with my lips again, I let my eyes drift over his body, and I don’t even have to pretend to enjoy the view. He jokingly poses for me in different commanding positions, like he’s yelling at the cameraman or calling action or cut, and then he does a frustrated growl that makes me laugh and inch forward. His smile somewhat fades when he notices my wicked grin.
“I’m not going to kiss you,” he says again.
My heart pounds a few extra beats. I keep my eyes locked with his and slowly straddle him. My inner thighs rub tight against his hips, my butt settles on his knees. There’s a fair amount of distance between our upper bodies still, but I have to yell at myself to stop. Keep away from the bulge! I will not let this backfire on me.
I rest my hands on the back of the chair, balancing on his legs. “Why not?”
He gulps. “Huh?”
“Why won’t you kiss me?” I bat “innocent” eyes at him and his jaw clenches.
“You…you have bad breath.”
“The worst, huh?” I wet my lips. “I’m pretty sure it’s spearmint gum.”
“I’m not going to kiss you.”
“I won’t kiss you either.”
His hands twitch. He’s white-knuckling the armrests. He shuts his eyes, blows out a breath, and I let my heart dance in my chest. Why don’t I try to seduce him anymore? Why don’t I flirt as much? It’s amazing. The challenge of making yourself completely irresistible—and the victory lap in Chocolateville afterward, it’s enough to make me grab Lord Landon and throw in the towel.
But winning is more fun.
I lean in, making sure to keep my lips from pressing any part of him, and rake my tongue across his ear. He shivers underneath me, muttering, “SundanceSundanceSundance” under his breath.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” I roughly whisper. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
“No.”
I slowly take his lobe between my teeth, still careful about not touching my lips to his skin, and nibble till I hear him groaning. It doesn’t take long.
“How about now?” I ask. He shakes his head, but his hands have moved from the chair to my thighs. His grip is tight. Like painfully, pleasurably tight. I don’t have to exaggerate the whimper that rises from my throat.
I lean back and wait for his eyes to open. When they do, he grits his teeth and says a strong and firm “No.”
His determination is adorable, and I lose seductive for a second and run my hand over the bill of his cap. I pull it backward, watch his gaze drop to my lips, to my throat, down the front of my shirt, and my breathing speeds up. I want him to want me. I want him to want me so bad he can’t help himself. I want him to want me like he used to want me—like he can’t have me, but he’s taking me anyway.
I want strawberries and whipped cream sex. And I want it now.
My tongue tentatively slides out, and I lean forward and drag the tip across Landon’s chin, up his lips, over the tip of his nose, and pull it back into my mouth after I feel his hot breath on the hollow of my throat.
I’m about two seconds away from losing the Bahamas. But then Landon curses under his breath, and he wraps his hand around the back of my head and crashes his lips into mine—tongue first.
He’s so commanding and aggressive, it’s setting my entire body on fire. I’m at t
he gates of Chocolateville already and we’re only kissing. But there they are, glowing and taunting me. Stupid gates…I’m supposed to be in control here.
“I can’t,” I mumble around his lips. I can’t lose. He needs to lose. He starts grunting something too, but I have no idea what. We’re both talking, and his mouth moves to my collarbone, which he has never loved as much as he loves it right now.
My nipples tingle.
They need to stop that.
His hands run up my ribs.
My nipples buzz.
They zap.
They scream.
And his thumbs taunt back, right underneath my breasts, running lines across the lower wire of my bra. So close but not touching, so close but not touching, so close but not touching, and my nipples are getting so mad they’re yelling at my hands now. Grab his damn thumbs!
“You shut the hell up,” I tell them, then press hard against Landon’s chest to try to get them some relief, but it doesn’t work. It just makes it worse. I’m about to grab them myself, but Landon’s mumblings finally compute in my head.
“I want you,” he growls, setting my loins ablaze. Hell yes, just take me right here in this director’s chair. His teeth press into my bottom lip, pulling and pulling, and I bury my nails in the back fabric of the chair, panting and moaning and yelling at myself to hold out for a few more seconds. Just a few more!
“I want you,” he says again. He grabs hold of my shoulders, nuzzles into the crook of my neck, hot breath washing over my flushed chest, and my nipples perk up like the key to Chocolateville is dangling over them. I almost say, “Just do it, damn it,” but he may count that as me losing, so I grind my teeth together, slam my eyes shut, and force my sweaty body to stay perfectly still on his lap.
He shifts underneath me, and I’m about to admit defeat. I can vacation in Utah, and even though I won’t see him in board shorts, warm and tan on the beach, I’ll see him looking pretty damn fine while in his movie element.
But then a heavy hand presses against my left breast.
My eyes fly open, and I can’t help but throw my fists in the air and shout, “I win!”
Sweet mother, I won. I’ve been stressed out from my Hurdles—the in-laws, getting extra hours, setting up meetings with my mom, and booking venues, and that doesn’t even cover half of what I have to do for this wedding.
And it’s all about to be unleashed on him.
Except…he’s laughing.
Laughing so hard I’m nearly knocked off his lap.
I drop my arms and my gaze. Landon lifts his head, laughter breathy and gray eyes wet with amusement.
The hand on my boob is not Landon’s. It’s a zombie mannequin.
“Agh!” I scream, and I topple to the floor. He’s still laughing, and when I get ahold of myself I start swatting at his legs. “Damn you!” I’d take that handsy mannequin and flip him off if it wasn’t missing that finger.
Landon recoils from my flimsy hits, and his hat falls to the floor behind the chair. “That’s what you get, Tumbles.”
“I almost had you, admit it.” I fall back and toss the fake arm to the side. Landon lies down next to me and we both catch our breath. After a few minutes and a few hundred calls on his cell for being so late from the “ten-minute break,” Landon leans up on his arm, his smile lines looking extra adorable.
“You did.”
I shove his face away. Damn him.
Chapter 13
OCTOBER
“I’m going to lose.”
I slam my head down on the table at The Cheesecake Factory. It’s been two weeks since the handsy zombie, and that’s the only action I’ve had since. Landon still squeezes my hand, but he won’t kiss me beyond a peck hello and goodbye and the occasional thank-you. My lady parts are parched.
Theresa leans across the booth and bats at my ponytail.
“Stop moping.”
“It’s been a month and a half.”
“Some people go years, you know.”
“Not you.”
“I said some people.”
“What do you recommend?”
“A long shower.”
“Theresa…”
“I’m ordering you a slice of orgasm cheesecake.”
The dessert menu sticks to my forehead as I sit up. Theresa snatches it from my face and sets it at the edge of the table.
“It’s awful. I can’t even kiss him without wanting to set him free from his jeans and ride him like a bull.”
Ugh, even the visual makes me want to scurry out of here and into Landon’s call center and have him drive me up against a wall. Shit…
“When was the last time you just made out? Like without any wandering hands?”
The waiter chooses that moment to walk to our table. “Hello, welcome to The Cheesecake Factory, I’m Greg. Can I start you out with anything to drink?”
I slam my hands on the table, making the silverware jump. “I need cheesecake!”
Greg the waiter does really well at holding back his laughter as he looks to Theresa, who orders the orgasmic slices for both of us…and then starts flirting—I’m pretty sure just to torture me. I clench my teeth and breathe in deeply through my nose. I don’t get it. I went eighteen years without sex, I went over a year with longtime-relationship quickies, and yet I’ve never been this pissy.
Greg leans a little on the table, completely shutting me out while Theresa tries to get free food and a weekend date. I let my head fall to the back of the booth and try to remember the last time Landon and I just made out.
Second date, I think. He kissed me on our first, and it was pretty awful. I don’t know if he was nervous or what, but it was awkward and rushed, and after such a fun date it was a little surprising I didn’t enjoy it as much as I thought I would. But despite that, he took me out the following night and shocked me by kissing me hello. Like really kissing me hello. It left sparks from my crown to my toes.
“Oh!” I said, surprised. I’d been contemplating how kiss number two would go—worrying about it all day, actually.
Landon pulled away with a shy smile and a slight blush. “Sorry. My lips wanted to make up for last night. They were pretty embarrassed after their performance.”
“They weren’t that bad…”
“They also missed you. They’ve been tingling since they said goodbye.”
No one had ever said something so sweet to me. I’m pretty sure I said an audible “Aww.” See, I remember first kisses. I think that’s something everyone remembers, but the second kisses with previous second kissers somehow fade into the background. I can’t say where I was or how it felt or where their hands were or what time of day it was. But Landon’s was different. I don’t just remember kiss one, I remember kiss two, almost more clearly.
I reached up and turned his cap around. It was his Beetlejuice one, and it wasn’t faded then. It was just past six, the sun was set, and most of the light was from the snow reflecting the streetlamps. Landon’s car was running, smoke spilling from the tailpipe, quiet music filtering out of the open car door. His hands found my coat pockets, my lips found his lips, our butts found the backseat.
“Ouch, hang on,” he said when I landed on top of him. He wiggled out of his coat and helped me out of mine. It was chilly at first, but heated back up again as we really explored the way we kiss for the first time. If his lips had an awkward opening act, they killed it for the encore. I remember thinking I’d never been kissed like this before, and never ever had I wanted lips to perform against every inch of my body so badly.
Landon’s hands gripped my hips, and mine tangled in his hair. He started asking me questions between kisses.
“What’s your favorite color?”
I went with it, way too buzzed to care why he was asking anything.
“Red. What’s yours?”
“Red too. Do you have a job?”
“Yes, but I want a different one.”
“Me too. Beer or wine?”
“I don’t drink. I’m eighteen.”
“Liar.”
“I don’t drink regularly.”
“Okay, Coke or Pepsi?”
“Coke. How old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You don’t look like it.”
“I don’t act like it, either.”
“Why the questions?” I finally asked. The windows were so fogged I couldn’t even see the car parked next to his.
“I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to get in your pants. I want in your brain, too.”
“You are getting closer to the keys that unlock both of those.”
We started testing boundaries then. His hands moved up. Mine moved down. Pretty soon we didn’t need our shirts to keep warm. I had my very first orgasm not by my own hand that night. Oh, so I guess that make-out doesn’t count…
Theresa laughs, taking me out of my thoughts and back into our dessert. Greg finally decides to go place our order, and I lean in and say through my teeth, “Never.”
“Huh?”
“Landon and I have never just kissed.”
She blinks, then her brain catches up with mine. “Not even the first time?”
“Well, that time we were only lip to lip, but after that, I mean, Landon and I are handsy, I guess.”
That and when we started hard-core making out, hell, why not go all the way? Even if it is a quickie during a commercial break.
“Then figure out where to put up your stop signs.”
“That’s it. I can’t. I just want him to keep going, and I think he wants to keep going, but he won’t because he doesn’t want to lose, and I won’t because I don’t want to lose, then he pulls away and he’s…and I’m…and then we’re both…”
“Unbearable.”
I chuck my straw wrapper at her. “I was going to say on edge.”
She pulls her dark curls back, snapping an elastic band around them. “Just give in. Go to Utah.”
My eyes narrow. “I will not.”
She laughs and sits back as Greg brings us water and our cheesecake. I’m into it so fast I nearly stab him with my fork.
Oh, sweet loving monkeys. It’s like a natural shot of endorphins straight to my hypothalamus.