Page 41 of Beautiful Scars

He doesn’t even look at me. Instead, he’s squinting through a coil of smoke, cigarette dangling from his lips as he uses both hands to start unbuckling the first restraint.

“Huh!” I say, a little louder.

“Just spit it out,” he mutters.

Not a man for subtleties, I guess. “It’s just weird, is all.”

He sighs, abandoning my restraint and leaning back to look at me. “What is?”

“How…empty…my mouth feels right now?” I attempt a coy little shoulder shrug, which is easier said than done with your wrists restrained.

Cillian studies me with slitted eyes. Then he leans across and crushes his cigarette out on the nightstand. “Is that so?” he says, as if he’s entirely uninterested in my answer.

He pulls a packet of mints out of his pocket and puts one in his mouth. Then, he takes another one and holds it in front of my lips.

I open for him, and he pops it in.

“Better?”

There’s the smallest fragment of a hint in his suggestion, butChrist. Is he being difficult on purpose? Does he know what I’m trying to do and willfully ignoring it, or is he really just blissfully ignorant?

I’m trying to think on my feet. I want to back out, because if I make it evenmoreobvious and he rejects meagain... I think I’ll lose my mind.

I shake my head, and heighten my voice a few notches. “It’s still missing something…”

Straight for the jugular. Surely?

His eyes search my face. Fuck knows what he’s looking for, but he leans across my body and pulls in closer to me as he tries to find it.

Sea green eyes focus on my mouth, so I bite down on my lower lip and look at his.

The closer he gets, the more I lower my lashes. His breath falls warm across my cheeks. He presses a firm kiss on my lips, and then pulls away just an inch.

“Better?”

When he speaks, I feel the rumble of his voice across my belly.

I nod my head, still holding my breath.

He moves so suddenly I don’t even have time to yell. Grabbing my face between his two big hands, he slams our lips together and demands entry.

Which is exactly what I wanted, obviously. Which is why I don’t fight him. But that doesn’t explain why my entire body suddenly feels like someone just threw a toaster into my bathwater.

With me still inside.

His hand slides down my face until his fingers wrap around my throat. He pushes me into the bed, but somehow doesn’t strangle me.

Yes! I did it! I’m seducing him!

But victory pales in comparison to the feel of his rough stubble and his smooth lips. His kiss deepens, becomes even more demanding.

I moan into his mouth, and fuck knows why. Theatrics, I guess.

Explain to me why you consider this an act, Meisie? Can you not feel how your body reacts to him?

Oh my God, Doctor Patricia fucking Lundy, PH. D. Get the hell out of my head!

The mattress sinks down beside my hip as Cillian climbs onto the bed, our lips not breaking contact for even a second.