Anyhoo Jessica has graced us with a teaser to soothe the pain, check it out:
His lips smash together as he deliberates something. Then he steps forward, toward me, taking me off guard as he lines his body with mine and I have no choice but to back up against the door. Fireworks of heat erupt through my body as he pins my shoulders between his arms, his hands resting beside my head. “Gemma, I don’t want to fight with you,” he says. “I didn’t… I didn’t work to save you only so we could sit here and argue with each other.” His sincerity perplexes me because he’s not much of a sincere type of guy. My eyes drift to his head at the dissolving black spot, the brand of his supposed good deed. “Did it hurt?” I ask. “When it bounced back on you?” He rolls his tongue in his mouth, looking like he’s trying not to laugh. “Not too bad, but I’m good at handling pain.” “What about the non-pain part of it?” With each breath I take, my chest crushes against his. He shakes his head and his forehead brushes against mine. We’re that close, almost pressing against each other, but there’s still a sliver of air between us, a boundary we need at the moment.
“There was no non-pain part of it,” he explains. “It didn’t do anything but give me a really, really bad fu**ing headache.”
I hate this; this drive toward him. The invisible pull that I still don’t understand. The overwhelming need to touch him, rip his clothes off, bite his lip, scratch his skin, feel his rock-hard body.
My fingertips dare to go to the place my mind is heading, drifting to the top of his jeans, then skimming underneath the fabric. I feel him tense and I tense too. I’m about to go there and what really surprises me is how bad I want to do it, want to touch him. I can tell he wants to touch me too, his lips dipping closer to mine as we breathe frantically together. My back arches forward and my chest presses against his, my body and mind wanting more—needing more. I feel starved from something, but I’m having a hard time placing what.
“Jesus… Gemma...”He lets out a throaty groan and his eyes start to shut as my hand travels lower. My other hand wanders up the front of him, resting on the top of his heart, crushed between our bodies. I can feel it pounding in his chest, racing almost as fast as mine. Our lips brush, the connection sparking, and he lets out another groan, this time louder. Suddenly, I remember that there’s a six-foot four, blue-eyed, blond haired, sexy vampire hiding under my bed. Sh**. I lean back, pulling my hands out of the top of his jeans.
“Where’s Aislin and Laylen?” I ask, breathless.
He blinks and the emotion drains from his expression. Holding my gaze, he pushes back from the door. “Downstairs I think.”
And just like that the tension and desire melt into a puddle below our feet.