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Instead of letting her injure the both of us with a headbutt, I release her arms and grab the backs of her thighs. I pull her forward and drop her back to the floor. Essentially, I’ve put her in the guard position which, had she trained more with grappling rather than punching, she’d realize she’s in the most powerful position.
I push between her thighs. As she straddles me, I bear down on top of her, restraining her wrists above her head.
I stare down and admire how her heavy breaths strain her breasts against her top. After a few useless attempts to free herself, her fight wanes. She relaxes her muscles and rests her head on the floor.
“Why are you just staring at me, you freak.”
“I’m trying to decide what I want to do more.” I thrust hard against her, earning a soft moan from her lips. “Whether I want to tear your pants off and taste you, or shove my fingers deep inside—”
Her thighs crush my midsection in an attempt to remove me. When that fails, she rests again. “How was it so easy to kill a man by accident, yet I can’t murder the one I want intentionally.”
“Because, beneath all those raging emotions, you don’t actually want to kill me. I’ll let you in on a little secret about the emotionally capable.” I secure her wrists in one hand so I can maneuver lower down her body. Using my teeth to drag the hem of her top up, I expose the soft skin and delicate curve of her abdomen that I’ve sketched from memory.
“Hatred and love, they’re nearly indiscernible,” I say. “Passion rules us, and anger is felt at its height when either of those emotions take hold.”
“You’re beyond deranged if you believe we’re in love.”
I drop a kiss to her belly, parting my mouth to trail my tongue over her flesh, eliciting tiny ripples of gooseflesh and a breathy sigh from her lips. It’s crazy inducing. I’m battling the frenzied urge to strip her naked and sink so deep inside her, she won’t be able to deny our connection.
“We’re not in love,” I agree with her. “We’re in need, inpain. Love is merely dopamine and norepinephrine, chemicals produced to temporarily dull the pain. Because that pain? It’s real. A torment to connect and satisfy our need. It’s sick and villainous and twists us, but we have to answer its demand.”
Her hips flinch in response. She barely moves, but the slightest press of her pussy against my cock nearly decimates me.
“Christ, you’re making me come undone, Blakely.” I lie my forehead to her chest, intoxicated, drunk on her lure. I don’t even care if she squeezes the life out of me. I’d welcome her pain and pleasure equally.
Everything about her is the same, but different. She’s softer. Fragile and fearful. Strong, and even just as cunning, but she’s questioning. She never hesitated before. She’d never allow me to hold her against the floor as she contemplated her move.
I’d be the one on the floor.
The woman who Tasered me and shot me up with club drugs is still present, but now there’s a vulnerable undercurrent that begs to be touched.
And, oh, I want to touch that part of her greedily.
But the ticking in my head grows louder, sounding over the thump of music, reminding me she’s in trouble.
That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m giving up any progress and discovery and breaking my rules to be here with her right now and convince her she needs me.
With painful regret, I let go of her leg and separate from her. But before I release her completely, I palm the side of her face and tilt her head back. Her gaze is curious as she stares up at me, as if she’s trying to piece together what I’m holding back.
Then, she says, “They want me dead.”
I shake my head, staggered at how she came to the conclusion. “I assume Grayson and London want us both dead,” I confess. “But first, they want us to get rid of any connection tying Grayson to the subjects.”
“Victims,” she says.
“I’m not delusional.” I sink my fingers into her hair at the nape of her neck. Then I take what’s right before me, what’s been taunting me since the moment I laid eyes on her.
I slant my mouth over hers and kiss Blakely with the hunger of a starved man. Delusional or not, when her lips crash against mine, I feel the grounding connection, and I know she feels it, too.
As we move in sensual tandem, inhaling and exhaling each other, her tongue slips over mine and sends a wild craving coursing through my veins. It’s sheer bliss and torment, the burning desire only heightened, never extinguished.
Her teeth nip at my broken lip before she bites down into the kiss. The sharp pain webs through me like lightning cracking the sky, and I taste the metallic trace of blood. She tears free, her breaths ragged and eyes wild. Then her fist makes contact.
33
OURS IS MAD
BLAKELY
