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I need to move away. Instead, I think I’ve leaned in closer. I can smell him. Smell the spicy liquor on his warm breath, his clean freshness, which I suspect might be the way he always smells.
“I can’t breathe—”
His eyes are like blue fire as he watches me. He’s silent, but his eyes are not. They caress my face, lingering on my lips almost as if they want to kiss me also.
“Antoinette.” His voice is possessive and deep.
“Yeah?” Mine sounds breathy, but in my defense I can barely breathe. He’s too close. I’m too close…
“I’m not someone you should look at like that. Unless you’re ready for me to rip those strings off your body and fuck you on the desk,” he grunts as his fingers in one quick jerk free my breasts.
Before I can stop him, he’s lifted me. “Wrap your legs around me, Cookie.”
His mouth… I was wondering how it would feel… is kissing me. His lips are soft, but he’s not. The glass I was holding drops to the ground. If it breaks, I can’t hear it.
“Open your mouth,” he demands, and I obey, willing. I want this. I want this more than I’ve wanted anything.
He sits me on the edge of the desk. Then his hand is on my neck, holding me so that he can lower his head and change me forever.
Ruin me.
I don’t think I can breathe as he kisses me so deep, so demanding that my one hand reaches for his forearm to steady me. He shoves his tongue inside my mouth, and I moan. There are kisses and then there are life-altering moments. This kiss feels as though it will change my life forever.
I wrap my other hand around the side of the desk, allowing me to lean forward and arch upward. My tongue finds his as we both suck, twist, and suck some more.
His hand tightens on my neck directing me even closer as he fucks my mouth with his tongue. His rough stubble makes my chin ache, and I moan. The pain feels like I have a sunburn. I’m sure it’ll be raw, but if he stops, I might die.
“That’s it, Cookie.” His voice is low, gravelly. It should set off a red flag. He’s not fucking around. Before I can say anything, like the truth, his hands scatter everything on the floor. Then he reaches for my breast. “Yeah, look at these fucking hard nipples.” His thumb is rough as he rubs the right one and I know I need to speak, but the thing is, I can’t. He’s robbed me of everything but him.
He’s primal. Exciting. Deadly.
“I’m going to fuck you, Cookie, so hard that you can’t walk straight, then suck on your clit until you beg me to let you come. And if your cunt pleases me, I’ll reward you.” His voice makes my core clench.
I’m so wet. Would it be bad if I let him do only that?
Holy fuck.
His hand leaves my breast and works its way to my neck, gently pushing me down on the cool wood as my legs dangle. I need to stop acting like I’m mute and speak up.
He straightens and looks at me. My brain is almost sluggish, like it wants to malfunction, so I don’t have to stop this.
He wants me.
And I love that.
I need it.
Because the truth is no one’s ever kissed me like that. Or looked at me the way he’s looking at me right now. He makes me feel like something special.
“This is how I want you. So fucking beautiful.” His eyes narrow on my small breasts.
What am I doing? Like a bucket of cold water has been thrown in my face, I bolt up.
“Wait, Axel you need to stop.”
He frowns. He’s so gorgeous, but right now those lips that were kissing me seconds ago are sneering in a way that makes a shiver go up my spine.
“You want me to stop?” He doesn’t sound happy. In fact, if I wasn’t in shock at all that’s happening, I would probably run.
“Yes. I do… I need to be married. I’m religious.”
Oh my God. I’m mortified.
He’s silent again, so I make it worse by adding, “Very religious.”
Clearly I’m crazy. Only a crazy person would do what I’m doing. I need to save myself. Tell the truth that I’m nineteen, socially inept, and still a virgin. Oh God, maybe being religious does sound better?
He pulls off his vest and my legs squirm on the wood as he takes off his T-shirt and hands it to me.
Tattoos cover his body, and there’s a huge Disciples MC with wings on his chest, leaving my eyes to feast on his eight-pack.
“Put the shirt on, Antoinette.” He reaches for his pack of cigarettes behind me. My voice stutters as I try to say, “Okay.” Instead I clutch his shirt to my breasts.
