Page 88 of Drifter’s Heart

What I’m not prepared for is the silence that pervades the room. His silence. When he turns to me, still unspeaking, I’m afraid to break it. Afraid of what it might mean if I do. His rules seem more impenetrable than ever tonight.

West cups my cheeks with those scarred hands, his thumbs curving around the planes of my face as he dips his head and grazes his mouth across mine. My breath stutters between us, a moment held, and then he descends on me in the sort of kiss made for romance novels. Or movies I’ll never watch because my shattered heart can’t take that sort of rubbish. The stuff that has never been real for me. That doesn’t exist.

A moan works its way along my throat the moment our mouths make contact, and his tongue slices across my bottom lip. Everything sweet is gone, even though his actions are still slow and precise.

This is the West I know and understand, different from the man who waited for me to come to him.

I open for him, tipping my head back, and let him take over. The sound that rumbles in his chest isn’t quite a moan, more an echo of approval I didn’t know I so desperately sought from him. His hands drop to my waist, tugging gently at my dress. A smile breaks across my lips.

Do you like it? I wore it for you.

My unspoken question doesn’t go unanswered, the clench of his fist as he pushes me against the table hard enough to bruise my hip.

Love it. Now take it off before I fucking shred it.

A breath that might birth a giggle bursts between us before his mouth crashes down over mine again. And every question he asks is answered in tongues and touches instead. My dress is pulled over my head—in one piece, I think—and his hand claps down on my bare flesh in a resounding smack.

Ow, I mouth against his skin as his head dips, trailing kisses and licks across my throat and lower.

Another spank flurries across my bare ass. I wiggle for him. That earns me a grab, squeezing the warmed flesh he’s just tortured. I clamp a hand over my mouth to prevent the whimper that escapes but it’s too late⁠—

“Sorry,” I whisper as West straightens.

The look in his eyes is formidable. Unforgiving.

One hand rises into the air, one finger circling.

I turn around, my eyes burning. Anticipation stalls my heartbeat, my breath still. The table is sparsely populated. His laptop sits on the kitchen’s stone benchtop, his charger wrapped around itself. One pen and a pad lie at the other end of the table, its hardwood surface clean and polished. Not a mark on it. I stare at my reflection in the high gloss, the lights glittering from the sleeping city beyond, but even those seem dulled here.

Not so when his touch drifts along my spine. It’s a tease, at first. Just a touch, then firmer. I gasp as he presses me forward, one hand splayed between my shoulder blades. I hold my hands out before me, but he knocks those away, tucking my wrists to my sides. Not holding me in place, but asking me not to stop him.

I swallow hard, and don’t.

West presses me down until my turned cheek meets the cold glossed table. I close my eyes, unable to deal with the overwhelm. His breath brushes my nape a second later where he slides his fingers through my hair, tucking it away to expose all my sensitive places. Kisses trail over my flesh, warm and reassuring. His hand along my spine never disappears, the pressure never changing.

Constant.

I breathe, like I did when he kissed me. Frantic at first, trying to find my rhythm to match his, then soften as I let him dictate his terms. I could keep battling it out, but with West there’s no need. Fighting against a boulder only ends in my shattering against him. I’ve learned that lesson time and again. Tonight isn’t about fighting him. That’s not what I came here to do.

Tonight is about surrender.

I hold my breath as he backs off, and then, as West taps my legs apart, I let go.

Of everything.

Tension slides from me. Muscles release along my neck, easing the tautness that has gathered along my spine beneath his hand that never moves. It slinks across my hips, loosening me and drifts…

Away.

I sigh, resting comfortably on the table where West has placed me, as though waiting for this moment. His hand traces up to squeeze my nape, recognizing the momentum, acknowledging what this means for both of us. My trust in him is rewarded with a lick along my spine that leaves me gasping—a sound I’m not punished for. Then his fingers dip between my legs, toying with the slick of need there that’s welled since he dragged me into his rented room. Even then, his gaze was wreathed in dark embers from the moment he saw me.

I let my moans out now, softly, knowing he’ll do as he likes anyway. My flesh betrays me, or gives him what he wants. Either way I look at it, one of us wins, or perhaps tonight isn’t about that at all.

Those clever fingers toy with me as I try my best not to wiggle for him like I did before. His moves were designed for teasing. Staying still is that much harder when I’m actually trying. My hands flex at my sides, but hopefully that’s the only signal he needs that I’m more than ready for him.

One finger, then two probe my entrance. I arch without meaning. The pressure between my shoulder blades increases, and I find myself flat to the tabletop again. My cheek meets the warming surface. I let my eyes drift open as he withdraws the blunt force at my slick hole and rubs around me, tracing my clit.

My teeth sink into my lip as I rock with him, unable to help the motion. West leans his body over mine, hot breath on my cheek as he kisses the corner of my mouth. I’m so close I’m dripping into his palm. And then⁠—