M.K. Schiller

The woman at the next table is making eyes at you,_ Lanie said, whispering conspiratorially.__eally? What does she make them out of? Cloth?

Do you think they have ice cream here?_ Lanie asked.Kyle cocked his eyebrow, obviously surprised by her question. __ have no idea. Why do you ask?___ecause I like ice cream when I__ stressed,_ she replied, thinking she wasn__ just stressed. She was burning up and needed something cold.__ don__ mean to cause you anxiety. Don__ worry. I__l get you ice cream whether they have it here or not, if that__ what you want.___ow, Kyle, that__ the nicest thing you__e ever said to me,_ she replied with a smile.

He slammed her door shut and spun her so she was facing him.__ne more for the road._ She stared at him with a perplexed expression but didn__ back away. __ want another taste,_ he said, feeling his heart race. He leaned her against the car and crushed his lips against hers. This time she ran her fingers through his hair, making him moan. He wanted to touch the curves of her body through the thick fabric of her dress, but he forced himself to concentrate all his efforts on her sexy, soft, pouty lips. When he released her, they were both breathless. Her lips were chapped, and those golden eyes were on fire with a carnal sexuality. There was so much electricity between them that, if harnessed, they could power the whole damn city.