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I swatted at his arm, dug my heels in, tried to yank back, but it was like trying to stop a roaring wave. I was never going to win on physical strength alone. Conor would forcibly drag me out again and again until my ass was black and blue and the door was falling off its hinges. We were halfway across the tattoo shop and I knew I was losing my chance with every step.
I wasn’t even sure I was fully aware of what I was doing. All I knew was that I didn’t want to leave. All I knew was that I wanted to be let in. Needed to be let in.
I grabbed the back of Conor’s neck with both hands and crashed my lips against his. They were warm and oh so much softer than I imagined they would be. He tasted of whiskey, sharp and fiery, intoxicating my tongue. Intoxicating my blood. I wanted more.
I tugged myself closer, only vaguely aware that his hand had fallen off the back of my collar. He stilled against me. But he didn’t push me away. He didn’t push me away. In fact, I swear his lips parted ever so slightly. He leaned into me a touch.
For some reason, in my kiss-drunk brain this was permission. Acceptance. I pressed my breasts against his chest, my hard nipples aching at the pressure. I couldn’t help the moan that escaped me as I suckled his thick bottom lip.
Perhaps it was the noise I made, deep, throaty and womanly. Perhaps it was the desperate way I clawed at him, trying to get closer, trying to dig myself into him so that he could never get me out. Or perhaps my pleading tongue that I swiped against his mouth like a plea.
Whatever it was, it unfroze him. He grabbed my shoulders. For a second, I thought it was to pull me closer, or to push me up against a wall. To have his way with me.
Instead he pushed me away. Away from him.
“What…” he stuttered. “What the hell, Aurnia?”
I said nothing. My turn to freeze as the consequences of my actions washed over me like ice water. Had I imagined his reaction? Mistaken the lust-laced tension between us?
Conor shook his head, snorted in unamused laughter. But his eyes were fixed on mine. No, he wanted me. There was hunger in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. But in them was also…fear.
His hands snatched off my shoulders as if I’d burned him. “Don’t do that again,” he growled.
“But you kiss—”
“Don’t.”
“Why not?” I dared to ask.
The tense moments passed, one shaky breath after another. When Conor stepped up to me my breath hitched. When he moved his face toward mine, I stopped breathing.
He was going to kiss me again. He’d realised there was no reason why not. Or perhaps decided he didn’t care.
My eyes fluttered closed but shot open when his lips brushed my cheek on their way to my ear.
“You just don’t get it, do you?”
Without warning, he was dragging me back toward the door, this time he held me at arm’s length, as far as he could hold me away from him. I cursed at him as I had done before. I swatted at him as I had done before. I kicked and thrashed and fought back as I had all done before.
One thing was certain: something had to give. We couldn’t keep doing this, trapped in this damned cycle. Neither of us getting what we wanted. Neither of us satisfied. He could deny the chemistry between us all he wanted, but it didn’t stop the air from crackling whenever we were in the same room. We were going to drive ourselves insane otherwise.
Something had to give.
One more thing was certain: it wasn’t going to be me.
