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I gasp. “You’re —”
“If I thought it would help.”
My breaths are choppy now and I’m scratching at his skin. “You d-don’t think it would?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you could be wearing a burlap sack and people would still stare at you.”
I lick my lips. “That’s not true.”
His eyes drop to my mouth. “So I guess it’s not your fault, is it?”
“What isn’t?”
“It’s not your fault that you’re the most beautiful girl to ever walk this earth.”
My eyes go wide. “I’m not.”
“And neither is it your problem that I want to kill every motherfucker out there who looks at you.”
“I’m —”
“And wants to stare a little too long,” he rasps, staring down at my lips.
“Ledger —”
“Wants to get a taste of your cotton candy mouth.”
I lick my lips again, trembling.
His eyes flare. “Or wants to touch your creamy skin.”
I don’t know how I’m able to breathe right now.
Or how it is that I’m sitting still when all I feel is restless.
Antsy.
And God, so fucking turned on.
And he’s still not done.
Not with staring at my lips and definitely not with his words.
“Or wants to trap you in a jar like the firefly you are. It’s not your problem, is it? It’s my problem. Mine. Every inch of it. It’s mine.” Then, a pause later, still staring and staring at my lips, “Mine. Mine. Mine. M —”
I do it then.
I grab his face and put my mouth on him.
And I do it all very hard.
In contrast to everything else up until now. Our whispers soft as roses and rasps like melted candy.
But then again, I don’t think we’re made for gentle things, him and me.
My cruel, sadistic, beautiful Thorn.
And his heartbroken, lovelorn, feisty Firefly.
I mean, look at what happened the first time we met: I cut my knees. And look at what happened what should’ve been the last time: he cut my heart.
We’re violent and volatile.
We’re the storm, him and me.
So maybe it’s fitting that as soon as I touch his mouth with mine, all hell breaks loose.
Especially when his arms that were braced on the island on either side of me wrap themselves around me like ropes. No, like steel bands. All corded and unforgiving. One goes around my waist, thrusting me forward and making me crash against his torso, like he’s angry at the micro inch of space between us. And the other goes into my hair, palming the back of my head, his fingers fisting and getting all tangled up in my strands.
And the growl that he emits sounds like thunder.
It goes straight down to my belly, making it all tight and achy.
Causing that place between my thighs — that’s all pressed up against his hard stomach — to swell up.
And I emit a soft, satisfied sigh.
This is good.
This is great.
This is fucking phenomenal.
Our third kiss.
Actually it’s even better than our first two kisses. Our kisses are aging like fine wine. The more we do it, the longer we do it, the better they become.
Not to mention his large hands and his brutal fingers.
They’re fucking phenomenal too as they pull and tug at my hair. As they twist in my dress, crumpling the fabric, pinching the soft flesh beneath. And don’t even get me started on his teeth. His sharp and nippy teeth that bite into my lips. Plus his dominating, cinnamon-y tongue that thrusts into my mouth and invades and conquers it.
Yeah, this is the best kiss of all.
And you know what else?
This is also the kiss that has no ulterior motive.
It’s simply a kiss.
For the kiss’s sake.
It’s simply done because we both wanted to. Because he kept staring at my lips and I kept getting hypnotized by his words and thinking about what he tasted like. Not to mention, we’d just kissed. Like two days ago and so we wanted more and…
But wait a second.
I remember something.
I remember that it shouldn’t have happened.
It shouldn’t be happening.
This kiss.
This is our purest kiss.
This is the kiss with no agenda.
And I had one, remember?
I had an agenda when I asked him to dinner tonight. Not only was the kiss not on tonight’s schedule, but also if I were to kiss him, I should’ve done it with carefully concealed passion. I should’ve done it with one goal in mind.
Closure.
And revenge.
My thoughts break when he pulls at me.
When both his hands go down to my waist and he slides me off the island. Squeaking, I clutch my thighs at his hips and my arms go around his neck. And in the next second, I’m off the island and his body is my only anchor in a world that’s spinning and spinning and making me dizzy and drugged.
I feel him walking with me secure in his arms, going somewhere.
Still kissing, he strides out of the kitchen and I think he’s crossing the hallway, all the way down to where my bedroom is.
