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He looks at me with narrowed eyes … Only to storm at me the next second.
And I just stand there, frozen to the floor as he grabs my face and kisses me.
Time feels as if it’s standing still for a moment, and all I can think of are his lips and just how good they feel claiming mine. It’s greedy. Hard. All-consuming, like the last kiss on earth. And it quakes me to my core.
But then my brain kicks in.
In a moment of clarity, I pull away from him and slap him.
Hard.
A little too hard maybe.
Because when I remove my hand, there’s a clear red mark on his cheek. And the way he looks at me reminds me of a goddamn bear ready to fight.
Oh, God.
Regret hits me like a brick.
But even as my hand still hovers close to his face, he doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t even flinch. All he does is stare. And it sets my body on fire.
“I … I …”
My mouth feels as if it’s filled with cotton balls, the sentence I was uttering evaporating from my mind the second he leans in to my hand and says, “Do it again. Slap me. Harder. Show me how angry you are. Give me all your hate.” He grabs my hand and pushes it against his face. “Because fuck me, you’ll need all of it to stop me now.”
Fuck.
No matter how badly I want him to suffer, to hurt, to feel the same pain I’ve felt, my hand refuses to move. Refuses to slap him again. Refuses to make him pay.
Even though I definitely should for everything he’s done to me.
And even though none of this is right, or fair, or … sane.
All I can think of is that kiss and the fire I felt deep inside, growing stronger and stronger with every passing second while his lips were on mine.
So I lower my hand farther and farther, sliding it down his tattooed chest, all the way down his ripped abs, until I reach his V-line. He holds his breath, gazing straight into my soul.
My brain begs me not to cross that line, that line of no return.
Because if I do this … I know for a fact I won’t be able to escape his grasp.
But my body has already made up its mind.
My hand dives deeper and deeper, lowering the rim of his pants along with it until I hear that familiar rumble again from deep within his chest. The one filled with unkempt desire and roaring needs kept on a chain because of the things I said.
The things I did.
Because I clenched my legs.
Showed my cards.
Exposed my own dirty secret I’d been keeping for years.
And instead of taking advantage of it or laughing at me, he showed restraint.
But I don’t want him to stop.
I want him to devour me.
