My chest rises fast. The air between us feels charged, a storm about to break. My skin buzzes with anticipation. Every inch of me is lit up, waiting for the inevitable crash.
When he does, when his gaze drags over me as though he’s memorizing every inch, I feel powerful. Wanted. Worshipped. Until he opens his mouth again.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, voice rough with awe. “You feel even better than you look.”
I grit my teeth. “If you don’t stop talking—”
“What?” he smirks, sliding a hand between my thighs. “You’ll hate me more?”
I gasp when his fingers find where I’m already soaked, and he groans again as though I’m the one torturing him. My thighs tremble. Shame and need tangle in my chest, thorned and tight.
“I do hate you,” I hiss, hips bucking. “I still hate you.”
But I grip him tighter. Pull him closer. Grind against his hand as though I’m starved for him. As though if I don’t take this, I’ll break apart.
“Yeah?” he mutters, pressing a kiss to my neck. “Your pussy says different.”
I slap his shoulder. Not hard. Just enough to make him grin against my skin.
“You’re such a dick,” I mutter. My voice is already ragged. Drenched in everything I’m pretending not to feel.
“Good thing you like it.”
Then his touch turns gentle. He kisses his way down, slow and reverent, and my whole body locks up. My breath gets caught between ribs that don’t know how to expand with softness.
That word—reverent—it claws something deep in me. Something dangerous. Something that feels too much like being loved.
“Don’t,” I snap, pushing at his shoulder. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” he asks, breath warm against the dip of my stomach.
“Don’t touch me like you care.”
He stills, his hand splayed low on my belly. Heat from his palm radiates into me, grounding and disarming all at once. “What if I do?”
My ribs tighten. A line of an old song flits through my mind, unbidden.Don’t fall. Don’t break.I swallow it down before it escapes my lips. It hurts more than I expect.
I glare at him, heart pounding. “Then I’ll bite you.”
His lips twitch. “You promise?”
I shove him again, but he’s not budging. Not until I sit up, grab his face in both hands, and crush my mouth to his with the intent to hurt him. And I do. I want to hurt him for making me feel safe. For making me feel anything.
Because when I kiss him, I’m not kissing the man who’s been kind to me. I’m kissing the one I blamed. The one I hated. The one who ruined the safety I pretended to have.
He kisses me back, fully aware of all of that and unfazed. His mouth moves against mine in a collision of confession and war.
I reach between us, fumble with his belt, desperate now, desperate to shut off my brain and drown in something. He groans as I palm him through his jeans, hard and heavy, and I smile against his mouth.
“You talk too much,” I say.
“I’m about to make you forget your own name,” he growls.
Cocky bastard.
I shove his pants down, eyes flicking to the way he springs free. My mouth dries. I won’t admit it out loud, but… damn.
Now he has no patience, and I’m grateful for that. I don’t want slow. I don’t want soft. Just when I think he’s going to slide into me, he surprises me. Drops to his knees on the floor between my thighs and pulls me to the front of the bed.
