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I stepped forward, grasping the sides of his cut to bring him downward, so I could kiss him. Not gently. Hungrily.
Swiss responded immediately. His hands went around my waist and yanked me to him with a roughness that was instinctual. His tongue plundered my mouth, and I moaned in delight.
Then he stopped. Abruptly.
“Fuck, Kate,” his hands flew to his hips. “Did I hurt you?” His eyes scanned my body in concern.
“No,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You didn’t hurt me. That was exactly what I needed.” I gripped the back of his neck, though the motion sent pain splintering through my ribs. “You’re exactly what I want.” My breath hitched. “I need you, Swiss.”
I watched him battle. Battle between that darkness inside of him that needed me, too, needed me more than anything. And the other part of him that loved me, wanted to protect me. The part that was responsible for the gentleness, the concern.
“Kate,” he warned.
“Please,” I moaned. “Please make me feel something other than pain.”
His eyes were liquid fire. “Kate.” His tone was more guttural this time. “Don’t fuckin’ do this. I won’t be able to control myself.”
“Good,” I breathed, laying my lips on his. “I don’t want you to control yourself.” I kissed him again, coaxing a response out of him.
He stayed stock still for a couple more beats before he let out a low growl in the back of his throat, and he kissed me back.
Ferociously.
His hands went around me once more, and his palms found the soft silk of the pajamas I’d worn home from the hospital. His calluses caught on the fabric.
Though he was kissing me with all of the pent-up desire inside of him, he didn’t lose control completely. He didn’t throw me on the bed like he would’ve before. No, he walked us there, lips still on mine, hands still tearing at the silk.
Then he placed me, gently, on the bed, head lifting only so he could tear at my shirt. When the buttons went flying, I internally cheered.
He hissed air through his teeth as his eyes found my naked torso. The bruises, angry, black, blue. The surgical cut complete with stitches.
Worry struck me like lightning, panicking that he would stop. That the better side of him would prevail, and he’d tuck me into bed.
Luckily, the worse side of Swiss—the one that I loved—was stronger, and his hands went to the elastic waistband of my pants.
“Lift your hips for me, baby,” he murmured.
I did so, not even cringing at the spear of pain that came with the movement.
Swiss let out a guttural sound as he exposed my naked pussy.
“Prettiest cunt in the world right there,” he crooned.
My toes curled in response to his tone, at his eyes feasting on the part of me that was aching for him. Desperate for him. On instinct, I spread my legs wider and was rewarded with his sharp intake of breath.
His eyes found mine as he knelt at the side of the bed, slowly bringing my legs over his shoulders. He kissed each of my thighs as he did so.
“As much as I know you want my cock, as much as I want to give it to you, I’m not gonna fuck you,” he breathed against the apex of my thighs.
I let out a sound of protest.
His grip intensified ever so slightly on my thighs, and my pussy pulsed in anticipation of the pain.
It didn’t come, though. He was still holding back.
“I’m gonna eat you, though. And you’re gonna come for me. Hard. You’re gonna split apart. You’re gonna be a good girl and wait for my cock.”
My heartbeat thrummed in my chest as my breaths got shallower with need.
