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20
Bianaca
Aiden pried my lips apart, and his tongue darted in before I was even aware of what was happening. Tasting me. Claiming me.Owningme. I couldn’t even deny to myself how possessive his kiss was, how searing and all-consuming.
As abruptly as the kiss began, it ended, Aiden ripping his lips away from mine with a growl.
“What the fuck are you doing to me?” he hissed in my face, but I couldn’t answer. Heat had unfurled in my belly, and my panties were already drenched. I didn’t know what was happening between him and me—the others and me—but I knew I wanted him.
Needed him.
I could sooner give up breathing than stop what was inevitable.
He must’ve seen it on my face, for his eyes hardened, appearing almost molten in the dim lighting of my childhood bedroom. Another animalistic growl escaped him as he all but grabbed my hips and jerked me onto his lap. He reached behind me, grabbed my knife, and tossed it onto the ground.
“I’m so fucking furious at you,” he snapped as he claimed my lips once more, his hands roaming over my back and pushing my shirt up in the process. I pulled away only long enough to toss the shirt over my head. His shirt quickly followed, baring his muscular, tattooed torso to my greedy eyes. Both of his nipples were pierced, and my tongue watered with the need to taste them.
But then his words penetrated the lusty haze in my mind.
“What the fuck did I do, asshole?” I demanded.
Instead of answering, he kissed me once more, fierce and demanding, as his hands moved to cup my ass. He squeezed tightly before giving the right cheek a sharp slap, though the material of my jeans softened the blow. “For putting your life in danger.”Slap.“For acting as if we wouldn’t be fucking devastated if anything happened to you.”Slap.“For making stupid decisions with no regards to your own life.”Slap. Slap. Slap.
His lips moved to my breasts, biting at my nipple through the cotton material of my bra. I arched my back, my pleasure mounting, as his eyes flared with the fires of hell. Just then, he was a devil in human flesh.
A beast that had been unleashed on the world. On me.
“You hate me,” I panted.
“So fucking much,” he agreed, fisting his hand in my blonde curls. He tugged until I was forced to arch my neck for him…and then he tugged even harder until my breasts were in his face. A heady mixture of pleasure and pain exploded inside of me as his tongue snaked out to lick a pathway between my breasts, up the column of my throat, and then back down.
He released my hair, forcing me upright, and didn’t waste a second ripping down the cups of my bra, my nipple grazing his cheek.
“My god, woman. You’re so fucking infuriating,” he hissed as he brought my left breast to his lips, sucking hard. When he bit down, I cried out, my muscles spasming. His eyes smiled enigmatically, almost as if my reaction amused him. “You wanted me, baby,” he pointed out. “Now you got me.”
“You’re a fucking asshole,” I whispered, gripping his jaw to force his lips back to mine. He squeezed both of my breasts, once again evoking that strange pleasure-pain sensation, as his tongue plundered my mouth.
I didn’t understand what was happening between us. A part of me hated him, while another part of me…
Well, that kinky bitch wanted him.
He pushed me onto the bed, my curved legs still wrapped around his waist, and hovered over me. The cold piercing in his tongue was a direct contrast to my suddenly overheated skin, and I jerked upwards when he rubbed it over my nipple once more.
This tension… It had been brewing between us from the very first meeting. Every quip and jibe. Every hurtful word and narrow-eyed glare. It’d somehow translated to this exact moment. Emotions clawed at me, sinking their talons deep into my skin. Jagged scratches were left in their wake, and I feared they would never heal properly, always remaining as hideous scars.
My hands tangled in his messy black hair as he removed my bra completely, his lips repeatedly traveling from my breast to my neck to my jaw and then back again.
When he kissed down my stomach, I didn’t stop him.
And when he placed his hands into the waistband of my jeans, pushing them down alongside my white thong, I didn’t stop him.
Though I did tense, my muscles going rigid as if I’d been shocked.
He froze, my pants halfway to my knees, and pierced me with a look I couldn’t quite read.
For a brief moment, anger blazed to life in his eyes, and though he didn’t know all the details, I had the distinct feeling he knewexactlywho was behind my trepidation.
Dylan.
