“You don’t know shit about me or my choices. Or why I’ve done the things I’ve done. You don’t know me, Aubrey,” he hissed, his eyes boring holes into mine.

As if possessed by something I didn’t entirely understand, I reached out a hand and wrapped it around his clenched fist on the armrest. I leaned in until his face was within an inch of mine.

“But I want to, Maxx,” I said softly. And I realized how true that statement was. There was something about Maxx Demelo that made me want to dig, to find out all the good and the bad. But I reminded myself that this probing was overstepping all sorts of boundaries

Maxx’s nostrils flared, and he took in a deep breath as though my words were painful for him to hear. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Please, Aubrey,” he murmured.

Though I wasn’t sure what his plea was for.

Please, Aubrey, drop it?

Please, Aubrey, I want you to know me?

Please, Aubrey, this is the most mind-numbing conversation of my entire life, so shut up already?

Before I could push for more, the lights went down, and Maxx turned his hand palm up, folding his fingers around mine in the dark.

The heat of his skin enveloped mine, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to pull away or not.

But I didn’t. I opened my fist, which had clenched tightly after his initial touch, and threaded my fingers through his. We held hands like high schoolers on our first date. It was innocent and surprisingly sweet.

Soon the intensity gave way to something even more bewildering—contentment, comfort—again with that strange easiness that unfolded like it had always been there. For a girl who didn’t get close to people, here I was, tiptoeing into whatever this was without hesitation.

We were laughing and reciting dialogue. Maxx continued to steal my popcorn, and I playfully smacked his hand away. His fingers tightened in mine periodically, as though to remind me that we were still touching.

Please, as if I could forget.

Despite my eyes being trained on the screen, all I could feel, all I could think about, was his skin against mine.

During one of the particularly violent scenes, I turned away, never having been able to stomach it. I trained my eyes on Maxx’s shoulder and waited for it to be over. I felt his eyes on me and looked up through my lashes. His mouth was quirked up in a small smile.

“Such a delicate little flower, aren’t you?” he teased, his breath stirring the hairs by my ear. I gave a snort and shook my head, our cheeks touching.

Maxx’s fingers brushed my hair out of my face, and he leaned in to brush his nose along mine, his lips the barest whisper away. His eyes held mine in the glow of the screen. His hand slid down the side of my neck until he stopped and cupped the back of my head in his strong grip. His other hand came up to cradle the other side of my face, his thumb caressing my jaw.

I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. I should stop this. I should say something. I should back the hell away and put some necessary distance between me and this thing building toward a definite climax.

But there was no acting. No thinking. Just the anticipation.

“I’m going to kiss you, Aubrey,” he said softly against my lips. I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat.

But I didn’t pull away.

I couldn’t pull away from him.

The moment his mouth met mine, I tensed up. It was as though the last semblance of rational thought was battling my overworked hormones for supremacy. My brain was trying desperately to stop the rest of me from doing something I couldn’t take back.

But then Maxx’s tongue skimmed the crease of my mouth, and my lips parted to let him inside.

I had gone under.

He tasted like popcorn, cherry gummy bears, and every decadent, forbidden thing. He tasted like bad choices.

I couldn’t stop the groan that bubbled up from the back of my throat as he plundered my mouth. He took and he claimed and he made me his. I couldn’t help but feel a sudden panic as the need to shut down and pull away tried to take over.

But my body ached for this. I wanted him even as I recoiled at the intimacy. My lips slowly began to respond under the pressure of his mouth as my brain was quieted by the sensation of being kissed by Maxx.

This was new to me. The wanting. Under the expert ministrations of Maxx’s hands and tongue, I felt any residual hesitation melt away. It was terrifying. It was exhilarating. It was life-altering.

My arms came up, and my fingers wound themselves in the thickness of his curls. His hands continued to hold my face firmly as our mouths slanted again and again.

Our tongues tangled, our teeth knocked together, and I could barely breathe. I could feel the day-old scruff on his face rubbing against my cheeks and chin. I’d have a serious case of beard burn when this was over.

Maxx moaned deep and low, and it rumbled around in my belly, causing me to throb. I leaned farther into him, our chests smashed together over the obstructing armrest. Maxx broke away and glared down at the offending piece of plastic that separated us. Then, without a word, he pulled me over the seat, my legs scraping against it roughly, but I found that I didn’t care. I’d worry about bruises later.

I landed haphazardly in his lap, my back digging painfully into the other armrest. My legs were sprawled inelegantly along the row of seats.

Wow, this is so not hot, I thought, trying not to be embarrassed over the days of the week underwear now on display beneath my disheveled skirt. I felt my awkward tension resurface and threaten to ruin the moment. Tiny, anxious voices in the back of my head started questioning exactly what I was doing.