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Powerful.
Releasing.
It was everything Kilter was. Rough. Honest. Raw. Unbending.
His mouth roamed over mine, tasting, discovering. My lips throbbed and my body ached. His hand slid down my side to my hip then back up again, slipping beneath my shirt. The touch of his hand on my bare skin sent a wave of heat through me.
His tongue swept into my mouth as the kiss deepened. Slower, but just as fierce.
“Fuck, baby.” He broke away and trailed kisses along my chin and down my neck. “Never been like this.”
I moaned when his thumb stroked back and forth just beneath my lace bra. Oh, God, I tilted my head back, a soft gasp escaping when a featherlight touch of his thumb brushed over my nipple. But I was still wearing my bra and I needed his hands. His touch.
“Kilter,” I breathed.
“Fuck, you taste amazing. Beautiful.” He trailed kisses along my collarbone then pushed my shirt over my shoulder and kissed there, too.
“Kilter?”
“Hmm.” He didn’t lift his head, nor did he stop kissing me, so his lips vibrated against my skin.
“Shirt.”
He nipped my left shoulder and lifted, tore his shirt off over his head, and tossed it aside. Then his lips were on mine again.
“My shirt,” I said against his mouth. “I need your hands on me.”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, but kept kissing me, his hand now sliding over my ribs, down to my hip where he squeezed.
Suddenly, he moved, shifting to the side of me. My eyes hit his chest and I stilled as I stared at the beauty mixed with the painful scars of his past. I couldn’t look away and I knew he was watching me as I saw for the first time what his brother had done to him.
I placed my palm on his chest and slowly ran my fingers over the raised lines that were accentuated with black ink. He didn’t hide them. No, Kilter had black ink engraved into each jagged scar.
My eyes trailed down to his hard abdomen, each muscle pronounced, and yet there too was scarred by what his brother did to him. On his right shoulder was the spectacular tattoo of what appeared like a dragon with scales and claws, but it also was something else, like a beast of some kind.
I ran my hand up over his chest to the ink and I traced it, wondering if this beautiful creature came alive like mine had.
I glanced at him. He was completely still as he watched my reaction to his scarred skin. They were pieces of who he was—his strength and resilience. His determination to survive. His story, and I loved every page of him.
I lowered my head and trailed kisses along the path of his scars, my tongue flicking out to taste him. Lingering. Taking my time. Discovering. And reading every page.
“Babe?”
I paused, looking at him and was met with a scowl. Shit, maybe he didn’t like anyone touching his scars. I hadn’t considered that. “I’m sorry.”
His frowned deepened. “What the fuck for?”
“You don’t like me kissing your chest. I didn’t realize—”
“You can kiss any part of me you want. Love the feel of your lips on my skin. Love your tongue even more.”
“Oh. But you’re scowling.”
He grabbed my wrist and brought it between his legs to his cock. His very hard cock. “I’m scowling because my cock hurts like hell and I’m trying to stop myself from ripping your clothes off and fucking you so hard everyone in the fuckin’ house knows it from your screams.”
Wow. Okay. His cock twitched beneath my touch and I liked that. I liked that he was hard and he scowled because he was trying to keep control.
He let my wrist go and undid his button on his jeans. “I’m good with all that, except the part about everyone knowing what you’re doing to me right now.” I undid his zipper.
