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“I want you,” I said, my lips pinching his. This was so hard for me to admit. I didn’t want to admit how much I wanted him.
Dorian’s nose brushed mine, his fingers ghosting across my neck. A devilish smirk pressed into his full lips. “You have me, little fighter. Always have.”
But I didn’t. Not always. I gripped his shirt. “Make love to me.”
And he needed to do it before I changed my mind. He had to before I pushed him away and got too in my head again.
He scanned my eyes, as if questioning the validity of what I said.
He didn’t question long.
On his knees, he caged me beneath him, his tongue probing and hot when it dove into my mouth.
“Tell me what you want.” His teeth lodged into my bottom lip, tugging. “Tell me so I know how far I can go.”
His kisses slowed, almost hesitant. He hovered above me, and when he touched my face, waiting, I knew he was serious about what he said. He didn’t want to push me, and I guessed I couldn’t blame him.
He was the first to admit how fucked up he was, but I was too. I was because I almost wanted him to be fucked up. If he was the screwed-up one, I wouldn’t have to think about myself.
He wasn’t the only one who had control issues.
I had a history of fighting and for a reason. I got people before they could get me. If I did that, they couldn’t hurt me, and that was how I always operated.
I needed Dorian’s dark and beautiful void. I needed it to mask my own issues. We both very much loved power.
Which made his darkness light for me.
We did work well together, almost too well.
“Tell me.” His thumb brushed over my lip. “Tell me what I can do. I’ll do anything, Noa.”
He covered my mouth with a hard kiss, and his dress shirt bunched in my fists.
“Fuck me,” I gritted, my back arching, my hips rising. “Get me out of my head.”
I wanted him to push me.
I wanted him.
Gripping my jaw, Dorian forced my mouth open, his kiss aggressive, carnal. His hand captured my neck, and I gasped for breath, the adrenaline charging my veins.
“I want it to hurt,” he announced, pinning me beneath him. His weight sunk me into the bed, his eyes wild, his tongue in my mouth untamed. “I want you raw. I want it painful until I can’t feel anything and you can’t think. I want you mine, Noa. All mine and no one else's.”
My breathing labored, a fluttering inside my chest.
“What else?” I was stupid to ask the question, his lips pinching mine apart.
“I want it to be rough. Sweet.” His mouth pressed hard, his hold on my neck tighter. “Because that’s how you feel. That’s how you feel every fucking day.”
I gasped.
“I want to make love to you,” he rasped, his cock probing through his pants. “Because that’s what you deserve, but reason number whatever the fuck is I hate that I want it. I hate that I want your taste, and that I do want it to feel good too. I hate that I need you.”
“Why?”
I was trembling now, and he stopped kissing me. His fingers bunched my curls, his thumb trailing down my cheek. It came away wet, and I knew why.
He always was so good at making me cry.
