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I eventually backed away from Taylor, blinking a few times, and she curved her hand around my jaw. Her fingers were chilled, but I gave in to the touch anyway. She scraped her thumb over my beard as she offered me a kind smile. “So you still drink a little bit of this whenever you have something to celebrate?”
I nodded. “Although there hasn’t been much to celebrate the last few years. I keep a bottle here, in the back, and have a drink before we go on. If he were here, I know he’d be the one offering me a shot before every show, so…”
Taylor lifted the glass and took a sip then held it out to me, and I tipped my head back, letting her give me the last of it. And then she set the glass down on the table and kissed me.
Her lips weren’t cold and thin like I had always assumed. They were warm and lush, gently urging me to give in to her, but I was shocked into immobility. Even as my heart pounded in my ears and my skin itched, my hands remained firmly planted, my mind spinning off too fast to give any orders.
Something had changed between Taylor and me over these last weeks. I wasn’t sure when exactly, but the fire of animosity had burned off, so only the crackling heat of need remained.
Need to win her over.
Need to shelter her.
Need to burrow under the thick shell she wore and uncover all the soft, sweet places she had yet to show me.
So much fucking need.
It all boiled over, and my body burst to life. I threaded my fingers into her hair, holding her to me, taking control, testing her. Finding out exactly how much she’d give me.
I licked into her mouth. She tasted of the whisky, of my pleasure and pain, and I drank in more. Nipping at her lip, I curled my hand around her neck, squeezing ever so slightly, and she moaned into my mouth, opening wider, allowing me to learn the texture of her tongue, scrape it with my teeth.
I angled my head, aiming to discover all the hidden corners of her mouth, when a glass smashed and we both jerked away from each other.
“I’m sorry,” she said behind three fingers over her mouth. “I just…”
I shook my head, but by the time I reached for her wrist, she was jumping out of her chair, tossing her coat over her shoulders as she practically sprinted away.
“Sorry. I gotta go.”
Then she was gone.
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
Taylor
I didn’t know what the hell I was thinking.
I wasn’t thinking.
That was the problem.
I was running solely on emotion. Listening to Dean tell the story about his friend cracked something wide open inside me. All those jabs we’d exchanged over the years about projection. They were true.
All that hate and anger, it was because we saw the things in each other that we hated in ourselves. All the grief and guilt, all the broken bits we hid from other people. I saw it in Dean, and he saw it in me.
When no one else did.
I was grateful. I could stop pretending. Finally.
So, I kissed him.
Like an idiot who based decisions on emotions. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t even a decision. It was pure need. Some base instinct calling to the only other person who knew me.
Of course, he had kissed exactly the opposite of what I’d anticipated. He wasn’t lazy or soft or any other stereotype of a rich white guy who wore loafers. After getting over the initial shock of my pouncing on him, he gripped me tight, holding me to him in a way that let me know he was in charge.
I could have died on the spot.
Especially with the way his teeth grazed my tongue and lips. God, I wanted him to bite me. To hold me down and do whatever he wanted to me.
