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22
Rai
My breathing slows as I spin around.
Kyle is here.
He’s…back.
I stare up at him, at how his hair is styled back, at how his shirt is still meticulously tucked into his pants like when he left earlier.
There’s no visible injury on his body, no bruising or even dirt. He appears as impeccable as always.
He’s back.
Those words spread through my body like wildfire, violent and potent. It’s not like seven years ago when the impersonal messages were the last thing I heard from him.
His brow furrows as he glides his thumb under my eye, wiping away moisture. “Hey…what’s wrong?”
Despite my need to stop the tears, the weakness, I have no power to do so. They’re trapped in my lids, like a reminder of that day—the day I stood all alone in this room, when he never showed up. He never snuck up on me from behind and asked if I missed him.
“You left,” I murmur.
“You knew I did.” He keeps on wiping my tears as if, like me, he doesn’t like the meaning behind them or the fact that I can’t find the will to stop them. “I tracked the sniper, but they disappeared into thin air. They were ahead of me, and that’s why they managed to escape.”
“You left. You fucking left, Kyle.”
He must realize I’m not talking about the present because he pauses at my cheek for a fraction of a second before he resumes stroking the skin there. “You will never forget about that, will you?”
I shake my head once.
“Not even if I’m here with you?” He smiles faintly. “Not even when you miss me? And before you say you don’t, waiting for me proves otherwise…”
He trails off when I stand on the tips of my toes and capture his lips with mine. My kiss is tentative at best, the roaring of my pulse turning it a little shaky.
Kyle remains unmoving for a second, eyes widening the slightest bit.
That’s all the hesitation he offers.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck as he deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue against mine. It’s nowhere near the innocent start I gave it. Kyle might be kissing my mouth, but his hold on me gets past the confinements of my lips and tongue to invade my entire body.
It’s possessive, rough, and unapologetic—like everything about him.
It’s a clash of tongues and teeth, as if our war for power bleeds into our kiss with vengeance.
One hand still holds me by the neck, and his other hand digs into my hip as he pushes me until my back hits the wall. He’s not the least bit gentle about it, his true colors showing through the savage manhandling of my body.
The delicious, callous manhandling.
Instead of fighting him as I normally would, I choose an entirely different route. I drown in him, in his true nature, in his scent that has become a pillar I want to hold on to and never let go of. Maybe it’s because I waited a long time for this. Maybe it’s because I always fantasized about Kyle losing all sense of control with me.
Maybe it’s both.
Kyle’s fingers curl in my hair and he expertly releases the elastic band, letting the blonde strands fall all over my shoulders.
Just when I’m focused on that, he yanks the thin straps of my nightgown down. The flimsy things rip with the savage motion, falling down my breasts and to the floor.
I yelp against his mouth, but it turns into a moan when he leaves my lips and glides skillful kisses down my neck, nibbling and sucking on the skin, no doubt leaving hickeys. He has a thing for marking my body in all brutal ways possible, and in a way, it’s our point of connection. Ever since he started this habit, there hasn’t been a day where I haven’t stood in front of the bathroom mirror and run my fingers over the evidence of his markings.
Kyle’s tongue swirls around a peaked nipple before his teeth bite down on it. It’s hard enough that zaps of pleasure shoot straight between my legs and I arch my back.
Kyle holds me by the throat to keep me in place as he continues his onslaught on my nipple before repeating the same torture on the other one. My nerve endings tingle and ache, and the most frightening part is that I don’t want it to stop.
If anything, it’s the complete opposite.
I’m trying to get used to the sensation when his other hand pulls my panties down and he places his palm between my clenched thighs.
“Open those legs.” He speaks against the tender flesh of my breast, his breath hardening my nipple even more.
When I don’t comply, still focused on the stimulation he’s causing in my body, he continues, “If you don’t, I’ll resort to my methods. Those include ‘punishing’ you, as you like.”
