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“Well,” he taunts.
I step into him and it’s hard to tell because of the rain and darkness, but I think I see his eyes dilate in shock. I can’t put my finger on why I like that reaction, but I do. I put my hand against the scarred side of his neck. The skin there is almost lumpy, corded and rough, yet somehow even in the cold rain, the simple touch manages to heat my body. The man in front of me, and that’s all he is because I still don’t know his name, flinches. He doesn’t move away, however. It’s almost as if he’s forcing himself to not move, to stand in front of me, daring me to say anything else.
I moisten my lips, rubbing them together, while my brain goes through the possible scenarios that could play out here. The smart thing would be to walk away—maybe even run.
I’ve never been particularly smart when it came to men. I always make stupid choices—and that’s with men I knew at the time. I’d like to say I was just being ignorant now. That this was just one more bad choice, in a long line of them, and maybe it will turn out to be all of those things. But for some reason, this feels different.
My thumb is brushing back and forth against the raised groove of the scar on the side of his face. We do nothing for several moments, other than to look at each other and stare. The tension is so palpable between us, that it makes it hard to breathe, my heartbeat beats a harsh, quickened rhythm and still I can’t look away.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice dropping down, although still bitter.
“This, I whisper, and before I can force myself to rethink my choice, before I let him even try to talk me out of it, I go up on my tiptoes and bring out lips together in a kiss.
I don’t know what I expected, but that fact that his lips are firm, and yet soft surprises me. He keeps them closed, though, refusing to kiss me back. I don’t give up, because Ophelia Jessup is not a quitter—even when she should be.
I run my tongue against the seam of his lips, teasing him, trying to gain entry. I get closer to him, when I thought we couldn’t possibly get closer.
At least with clothes on.
Finally, I put my hands on his hips and pull away just a little, looking into his stormy eyes and seeing the pain reflected there. It’s clear for me to read. Then, I do something I’ve never done in my life. Something I’ve always refused to do—no matter the circumstance.
I beg.
“Please kiss me,” I murmur, moving back in to try again. To my surprise he does.
And it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.8BradenI should push her away.
Why isn’t she running away?
I don’t understand what’s going on. It’s the last thing I expected, but when she pleads with me to kiss her, I can’t refuse.
I’ve been attracted to her since I first saw her. I hated her for that, because she awoke something in me that I didn’t expect. She’s unearthed feelings that I have never felt—brought to life needs that I thought had died a fiery death.
I haven’t been able to get Ophelia out of my mind. That’s the real reason I showed up tonight. She was right about that at least. I was stalking her, making sure she was okay and really just wanting to see her one more time.
One last time.
One last time, because I knew if I crossed a line with her and she looked at my scars and ran away like Heather did, it wouldn’t just hurt my pride…
It might completely destroy me.
It would be proof of what I know inside. I don’t belong out there anymore. I’m better alone on my mountain.
The thing is though, Ophelia didn’t run away, and God help me, I truly wanted her to. I revealed some my scars and waited and instead of everything ending here… We’re kissing.
Maybe it’s because it’s been so long, since I’ve had any interaction with people in general and definitely not female. But, kissing Ophelia is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. There’s a heat, an electric attraction that grabs me. Then, there are her lips. Soft, pliant, full of desire, and yet sweet. She tastes so effing sweet that I could drink from her for days.
Right now, despite the pouring rain, despite the fact that we’re out in the dark, I can think of nothing but the taste and feel of her.
I hold her tight, her body pressed up against mine, her tongue warring with mine searching, plundering, teasing. Her fingernails bite into my back, as she holds me to her in desperation, as if she’s afraid that I will pull away. I’m as helpless as she is. I can’t pull away, it’s not physically possible.
