Page 136 of Twisting Beauty

He went still under my hand for half a second. Then his arms came around me and his mouth opened under mine. His hand fisted in the back of my hair, and the kiss went from mine to ours in one beat, and from ours to his in the next.

He turned us. My back hit the door.

“Wait.” It came out of him low and broken. “Gray. Wait.”

“No.”

“But it’ll⁠—”

“I don’t care.”

“Gray.” His forehead dropped against mine. His breath was jagged, his hand still tangled in my hair. “I have spent the night talking myself out of this. If you do this with me right now, we are damning us both.”

“Okay.”

His pupils blew wider.

“I’m not asking you the way I asked last night.” I tightened my hand in the front of his sweater. “I’m taking what’s mine.”

He made a sound low in his throat.

I kissed him again.

His hand in my hair tightened, his other hand braced on the door beside my head, his forearm caging me, his mouth against mine but not yet open. Still trying to hold back. Still trying to save us.

I bit his lower lip, then sucked on it.

He made a low sound that wasn’t quite a word, and his mouth opened, his tongue sweeping in, his body crushing up against mine, his cock hard between us.

I moaned into his mouth and ground against him, needing him so much it hurt.

His hands slipped around my ass, lifting me clean off the floor and he carried me to the bed.

He threw me down onto the mattress and I bounced back onto my elbows with a yelp.

“Last chance.” He stripped his sweater off with one hand, revealing his beautiful body and the fury of ravens across his chest. Deep into that darkness peering. He stared at me, ice-blue eyes blown black.

I yanked the dress over my head and tossed it aside, sitting back in just my panties and boots.

He sucked in a breath as his gaze slid over me, my nipples hardening against his stare.

“No turning back,” I whispered, and I let my knees fall apart.

He lunged for me.

The rest of our clothes came off in a desperate clash of hands and teeth.

His weight came down over me, the length of his hard naked body pressing against mine making my head spin.

He reached his hand between my legs, his palm broad and calloused and his fingers uncertain at first, as if he was afraid I might break.

His thumb found me, sliding up, through, and over, slick and hot.

“Christ,” he hissed under his breath. “You’re soaked.”

“You’re not the only one who’s been wanting.” I bit his shoulder, not gentle, a warning not to stop.

He made that same low-throated sound and slid two fingers inside, slow and deep and careful, but I wanted none of his care.