A low, cocky laugh slips out of him before his hips shift forward just enough to make my whole body go warm and unsteady. It feels like my first breath and my last all at once.
He kisses me harder and messier. I feel every ounce of his anger and need.
He parts my legs with his knee, pressing his thigh firmly between them.
My head spins; a whimper slips past my lips as he deepens the kiss, pulling me closer. He uses the opportunity to slide his tongue inside, hungrily gliding over mine. His hands drop from my wrists to my waist, dragging me up on my toes so he can kiss me deeper.
We’re not kissing.
We’re fighting with our mouths.
My hands automatically travel down his obliques, feeling the hard ridges of muscle.
His mouth tears away from mine, and he looks down at me with wild eyes. I stumble back, my heart slamming so hard it hurts. Dom takes a step back, chest rising and falling too fast. His eyes are dark and wild when he looks at me.
He runs a hand through his hair, and his gaze drags down my body. Every inch he looks at feels like it burns.
“Get away from me,” he rasps, voice deeper than I’ve ever heard it. “Unless you want to see that dress in shreds on the fucking floor.”
My thighs clench. I’ve never seen him like this.
Never thought I’d see him panting and barely holding himself back.
My body is shaking on weak legs, and my brain is barely functioning. I take a shaky step toward him. He immediately takes one back.
“Back,” he warns.
I blink at him, confused and aching. “Why? You’re the one who—”
“You’re drunk.”
“You’re trying to deny it again,” I say quietly. “What you want.”
His eyes flick up to mine, filled with fire. He takes one step toward me now, closing the distance he refused seconds ago.
“When I touch you again,” his voice rough, “I want you sober. Feeling every single fucking thing I do to you.”
My knees nearly give out.
“Go upstairs,” he says, breath still uneven. “Go to bed.”
“I don’t want to,” I whisper.
“And I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow and think it was a mistake.”
He looks at me long and hard.
“I didn’t touch that woman, Jessica.” he says quietly, shaking his head.
Then he turns away sharply, running both hands through his hair again.
“Go,” he repeats, voice rough.
I finally tear myself away, stumbling toward the stairs. As I climb, I hear him curse under his breath.
My mouth curves. A tiny, secret smile breaks across my lips.
He finally cracked.
