I pulled back an inch, just enough for her to feel the heat of my words across her mouth. “I want your kisses. I want your body. I want your oxygen. I’ll starve until you feed me. I’ll burn until you cool me.”
“I want you too,” she said into the tiny space between my mouth and her skin. “It’s fucked up but. . . I’m glad you drugged him—”
“It’s not fucked up.”
“It is and. . .I don’t want to say things like that but it’s true.”
I kissed her again.
The jazz throbbed low and slow around us.
“Teyonah. . .I need more than kisses.”
“He’s upstairs.”
“Fuck him. If he wakes up, I’ll put him back to sleep.”
Chapter twenty-four
Filthy Boy
Dominic
I kissed her hard enough to erase the space between us, my mouth devouring hers like I’d been starving for air and found oxygen only in her.
The taste of her flooded my system—salt, heat, defiance—and instinct slid into anatomy.
I moved my hand to her throat and pressed my thumb gently against the flutter of her pulse, feeling her heartbeat spike beneath my skin. It was data and desire in one rhythm—tachycardia from arousal, breath shortening as oxytocin flooded her system.
I knew exactly what her body was doing, could name every chemical that made her tremble and still. . .it felt like worship, not science.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders.
Before she could think to resist, I scooped her up.
The sound of her gasp cut through the dark like a heartbeat on a monitor.
Finally.
The candles blurred as I carried her to the bed, my own pulse syncing with hers, a steady drumbeat of biology and obsession. I laid her down, followed her body with mine, and pressed her into the sheets until she fit the shape I’d been imagining all day.
Yes. All mine and Scott won’t be able to ruin this.
My thumb found her pulse again.
It was faster now.
Arousal is just blood finding its way home.
I kissed her again, slower this time, charting her vitals with my tongue.
After days of waiting.
After hours of pacing.
My own skull trapped like a locked ward.
I finally had Teyonah.
