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“Oh yes, the fuck I can." A combination of anger and arousal is in my blood right now as I get up, barely resisting the urge to drag her even closer. I don’t know if I want to fight or fuck. Both. “It’s my car you scratched, and you need a job that can give you something more than fucking minimum wage. Know your fucking value.”
“You have no right,” she gets even closer now, eyes glinting, skin trembling and I want her so fucking bad I can’t stand it.
I hold off for one second, two as we breathe at each other.
And then I snap, dragging her to my body and finally getting a taste of those luscious lips.
And I’m lost.
Chapter Eleven
Delilah
Thekissexplodesinmy head, scattering all my senses. I taste him first, noting the exquisite flavor before I lose my thinking capabilities entirely. I’m not a drinker, but he tastes like what I imagine whiskey to be. Potent. Heady. Low and drugging.
Yes, his kiss is like a drug.
Now I finally understand what the hell all those romance novels were talking about.
Up till now, I always thought they were exaggerating. I thought the fireworks and explosion were fake, that people didn’t feel anything but awkward wetness that was simply a precursor to sex and maybe, a relationship.
But now I get it. Because there are definitely fireworks going off in my head, stars behind my eyelids, and butterflies bouncing in my belly.
And heat.
So much heat. From his lips and the forceful way they're molding mine. Contrary to the attacking way he kisses me, his mouth is coaxing rather than coercing, but there is a strength in the confident way he moves it. As if he’s done this before. As if he knows the exact formula to drive me crazy.
And I have to admit that he does.
Because the moment that he slips a tongue in there, just to lick at the seam of my lips, it kicks everything up a notch. The heat expounds, traveling south. I reach up because I feel the need to hold onto him or I think I might fall over. And I need more...more body contact, more of the kiss, more everything.
I tremble as his tongue touches mine, teasing it into a dance that I don’t understand but is as natural as breathing. Before I know it, he’s sucking at my lips and I’m sucking back at his, the teasing and the passion apparent in his moves.
He takes it up a notch again, both the speed and ferocity increasing.
“Fuck,” he says, and it’s a gravelly voice that sounds like it's from the depths of his soul. “You taste too fucking good, I can't even believe it.”
Same for him. I want to tell him that he tastes so good too, better than anything I’ve ever tasted in my life, but the words don’t quite make it out of my mouth. Instead, I’m only able to manage a garbled sound.
“Mmm."
But he doesn’t care because he keeps kissing me in that deep drugging way, his hand on the back of my neck and flexing around it as though he’s trying his hardest to fight for control. He seems to lose the battle as, with another guttural groan, that hand buries itself in my hair pulling me closer. His other hand is at my waist, grabbing it tight, but he doesn’t move me closer. The hand merely molds my skin, as if he doesn’t want to move any lower. Like he’s trying to hold himself back in every conceivable way.
Like any more than this and something terrible will happen.
Until something does happen. His hand, the one at my waist, twitches ever so slightly and then travels downward. It molds over my butt. And suddenly, with a pained groan, he’s tearing himself away.
I gasp as I fall against the table, holding on for strength, but he’s already pacing to the other side of the room, running his hand through his hair harshly.
“Fuck," he’s muttering to himself. “Fuck fuck fuck.”
“I’m sorry,” I blurt out the words, without fully considering what they mean or why I'm saying them. It just feels right to say at the moment.
But suddenly I feel like I said the wrong thing because he turns to glare at me.
Or maybe it’s not a glare, but the look in his eyes is dark and angry.
"What the fuck are you apologizing for?” he asks in a growly tone, his hands clenching. I know he’s not going to hurt me, but still, I have to swallow before I speak again, if only to clear my head.
