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To kiss longer.
To taste more.
Have more.
Take fucking more.
Her chest swells then, right against mine, and it’s too fucking much. Suffocating. Overwhelming.
What the fuck am I doing?
I tear away, put some distance between us and force the barest, blankest of expressions as I watch the wonder on hers die.
She understands me, so she knows what’s coming and her hand lifts to her chest in preparation.
“What do I want from you?” I rasp, my eyes hard, hers tense and tangled, even more so when I slowly slip away. “Absolutely nothing.”
There it is.
The sting she can’t hide.
It’s only fair she feels it when I do.
Who is she to make me ache?
Nobody. That’s who.Chapter 23BrielleFreshly showered, mind muddled, and emotionally spent, I step from my bathroom.
I don’t get a foot onto the carpet when a hand slaps over my mouth, shoving me back into the wall.
The sudden surge of panic has my vision blurring, but after a long, hard, blink, it returns. Panic has my heart rate climbing, but I quickly focus on the familiar face shoved in mine.
Royce stands in front of me, body pressed to mine, alcohol blanketing his breath and hazing his brown eyes. Eyes that grow darker the longer he stares.
His hand slides down the wall near my side, and then it’s wrapping around my left thigh.
In one quick move, he dips and lifts me, pressing me into the wall with his hips.
I lock my legs around his back, my robe falling open slightly around my legs, and he groans, running his fingers along the soft skin there. He squeezes, growing against me, hardening, stabbing at my stomach and creating heat within it.
His arms come up, fingers gliding along my neck and throat.
“Baby girl,” he rasps, and his eyes slam into mine.
Anguish, absolute and complete, stares back.
I want to take it away, always.
Royce’s focus falls to my lips, a hostile glare written across him and knotting inside me.
His tongue slips out to wet his lips, and when I do the same, every muscle in his body locks.
He fights it, his want, and he fights it well.
But I don’t want him to, and he came here for a reason.
Because just as I felt tonight, his kiss of anger wasn’t enough.
We need more.
We need real.
I want him to kiss me again, to devour me.
I want him to break me.
It’ll be worth it.
So, I dare pull his chain from beneath his shirt, my fingers gliding along the expensive item.
He instantly slaps my hand away, but there’s a sense of wonder in his eyes almost imploring me to push him further. To take what I want.
Demand and receive he once told me.
So when his eyes fall to the silver around his neck and hold, I ever so slowly try again.
I slip my fingers behind it, allowing it to rest on my palm, and read the inscription etched into it, his family’s motto.
My palm closes around the crest, the strength of the words now locked inside my fist.
My grip is tight, and his chest expands.
I tug it toward me, tug him toward me.
Chest to chest, my legs wrapped tight around his hips, I press down, my ass meeting the head of his swollen cock. And my god... does he respond.
His breaths turn ragged, his hand shoving into my hair, and then the world stops turning.
The sun meets the moon.
And my soul, it wraps around his.
Royce takes my lips in a deep, devilish, exhilarating kiss.
There is no anger in it this time.
It’s a pure, thrilling—terrifying—need to drown in one another.
It’s intoxicating.
He is intoxicating.
Royce’s mouth molds to mine, his tongue sweeping in greedy, hungry grazes.
He moans, and groans, and growls against my mouth, pressing his body into mine and when he slopes a little lower, his cock rubs right along my center.
I gasp, my eyes slamming closed, my head falling back, and he dips, sucking and biting on my neck.
An unfamiliar, exotic sound seeps past my lips and he tears back, looks me in the eye and then slams his lips into mine again.
His kiss is hard, rough, and so so good, but after a few moments, something shifts.
His hold loosens, his lips growing lax.
Royce kisses me slow, lazy, and long. And somehow, this kiss is more than the ones before.
It’s honest.
It’s an apology.
It’s us.
It’s him.
It’s more.
When he pulls away, he rests his head in the crook of my neck, and my fingers come up to glide along his fade.
“My little Tink,” he rasps. “Help me fly...”
An unquenchable tingling stirs low in my stomach as he brings himself closer.
“Help me fly, ‘cause this lost boy is on his way down, baby girl...” He quiets, his hold tightening.
Those tingles, they turn into fireworks.
He’s on his way down...
He’s falling.
My pulse thuds wildly in my ears, anticipation of what this could mean and fear of what will likely follow sending a shudder through my heated body.
