“Just with me? Because of Alex?”
“God, no. I’m an asshole for breaking a pact with him, but I’ll gladly take my punishment for that.” He chuckles and then adds seriously, “I can’t be with anyone, Leila. I’m not built for that. And frankly, dealing with relationships might be my last fuckin’ straw.”
I think for a moment, trying to figure out if there’s a way out of this for the both of us.
“What if we make a pact?”
“A pact?” he asks, rubbing his nose against mine.
“Yes.” I swallow. “We can pretend that nothing else exists while we’re here. Just you and me. We can give into everything we’re feeling.”
“And then?” he breathes out.
“And then,” I lick my lips, desperately wanting to taste him again, “we go our separate ways when we’re back to real life.”
“No strings?” His nostrils flare, and I can’t tell if it’s because he’s mad or he’s smelling me. He does that quite a lot, actually.
“No strings,” I confirm. “What do you think?”
Please, say yes.
“We can do that,” he whispers and licks his lips.
“Yeah” is all I manage to say—his masculine scent enveloping me. He doesn’t wear cologne or special soap. It’s all him: pure and intoxicating.Stephan. I wonder if Archie smells differently—I can always feel the shift when he puts that mask back on.
“Okay,” he says with a sigh, but I have already lost track of our conversation.
“Okay,” I parrot.
“Alright,” he replies with clear amusement.
“Yeah.” I’m not even slightly embarrassed by my current lack of brain power.
He laughs, fists my hair once again, and smashes his lips to mine.
Fucking finally!
His tongue checked all gentleness at the door and now invades my mouth like a warrior on enemy land. His free hand grabs my thigh and pulls me toward him. His fingers begin kneading my flesh, and my hips buck. He intensifies the kiss, angling my head so his tongue can dive deeper. I’ve never been a fan of deep kisses like this. Never found them even remotely arousing. But with Stephan, I seem to find something new about myself every single time he touches me.
My hands go to the seam of his shirt and try to pull it up. He helps me, but unfortunately, he has to stop the kiss to pull it off of him.
Fortunately, I can admire him as he does.
His eyes are on fire with passion, dark and focused. His strong body moves in sleek, precise movements. With every move, the tattoos on his body move along with it, as if everysingle one of them is alive. His lips are swollen, and it’s my doing. I feel unexpected pride rising in my chest.
In a moment, he’s in front of me, wearing only gray sweats, tattoos, and piercings—the way I like him the most. He looks around and leans to grab the blanket from the couch. Throwing it in front of the fire, he grabs me by my waist and pulls me onto him. I wrap my legs around him, and he crawls to me, kneeling on the blanket as he lowers me on my back.
“You’re awfully overdressed.” His wicked smile promises insane orgasms—something I think I’m already addicted to.
I quickly remedy that by pulling my T-shirt off. Lying in front of him in only my slutty black panties, I bring my hands under my head. “Not anymore. Whatcha gonna do about that?” I say playfully.
The right corner of his lips lift in an evil smile as he lowers himself on top of me and rests on his elbows. So close—I can feel his body heat—yet so far away. I want to touch him.
But in the next moment, he’s on me. Trying not to crush me—even though I wouldn’t mind his whole weight on top of mine, just for a moment, just to feel it—he begins peppering my face with kisses.
Alternating between licks, kisses, and bites, he moves on to my neck. My hands roam his back, feeling his bulging muscles under my palms. They move as I glide my hand over his sweaty skin. And I love the feel of him under my fingertips. I love the power he’s withholding. I savor it.
And I want it.
