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I breathe through the annoyance that slithers through me. “You know, just because you paid me to marry you, doesn’t mean I owe you something. You didn’t buy me. Stop acting like you did.”
He clamps his mouth shut and looks down for a second, and when he meets my gaze again, his eyes are softer somehow. And all the more dangerous for it.
“Just tell me,” he says. “Please.”
I shake my head, somehow unable to ignore the question. Somehow unable to simply lie and put an end to this madness.
“No. I’m not seeing anybody.”
You hear about hockey players having quick reflexes and moving fast, but I can guarantee you haven’t seen anything until you’ve actually experienced it firsthand.
One moment he’s in his seat next to me.
The next he’s on me.
I don’t even see him fucking move. He’s just there all of a sudden, straddling me, his lips a millimeter away from mine, eyes searching and exploring mine, hand cupping my cheek, unexpectedly gentle, which makes this moment a thousand times worse. A thousand times more terrifying. A bad decision times a million.
His tongue licks over his lips quickly, eyes wide, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s doing.
The train is off the tracks, charging toward a cliff with dizzying speed.
I slide my hand into the hair at the back of his head. Hold him still.
The train is airborne.
Fuck it.
Too late.
I kiss him.
He’s tense for a second, but he doesn’t push me away.
For a moment, it’s almost chaste. Just lips against lips.
Until he slumps against me with a groan that goes straight to my dick.
And all bets are off. My hand tightens in his hair, his fingers fist my shirt at the waist, and our bodies slam together so tightly nothing fits between us. I lick his lower lip, and he opens his mouth. I sink my tongue between his lips, eager for a real taste.
Just a taste.
Just the one.
I’m lying. A bald-faced lie, because I already want more.
I inhale the smell of the expensive aftershave that clings to his skin even after a long, sweaty day of work and push my hips upward to get closer.
Aching, needy, desperate.
His tongue licks over mine.
The last vestiges of common sense die.
RYKER
It’s just like I remembered, only more.
The kiss is more frantic this time around.
