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“You taste like whiskey and sin and cinnamon hearts.”
The air between us crackles as he looks at me, absorbing the words I never meant to say. I’m so warm, so overheated, I feel like I might combust. Like at any moment, I’ll shatter into a million splinters burned to dust under the heat of him.
His dark eyes drop to the few chips remaining on my plate, then they lift back up to my mouth, up again to my eyes. His voice is husky and thick, his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles are white. “I’ve gotta run out quick. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Oh.” I jolt. I’m surprised, but I nod. “Sure. I was planning to have a bath anyway.”
He makes a noise. It’s a cross between a groan of pain and a growl of frustration. But he doesn’t speak as he lifts his keys and disappears, slamming the door behind him.
Cash returns two hours later. I’ve had a bath, rubbed vanilla body butter over every inch of my skin before dabbing the lavender oil behind my ears and on my inner wrists. I’m relaxed, and at peace, reading page after page of my book as I sip the London fog tea I’d made the old-school way with a jar and lid to froth the milk, because trying to figure out Cash’s latte machine was beyond me. I’m curled into the corner of his couch, sipping the last of my tea when I hear the door. Then I hear his big black biker boots hitting the floor. Then he’s standing in the living room before me.
His eyes roam over me, lingering on my still damp hair. “See you had that bath.”
“It was lovely.” I close my book. “It’s been forever since I’ve had one.”
He nods to the book. “You meet the guy yet?”
I nod. “Yep.”
“You gonna gush over him?”
“Right now, he’s a bit of a jerk. So, I’m definitely going to gush over him.”
A single brow rises. “You like jerks?”
“In books, they’re hard to resist. In real life, no.” I tap my fingers against the face of the book. “I get enough real life every day, though. I don’t want to read something realistic. I want to read something that makes me burn, makes me feel unpleasant, curious, alittle ticked off, even.” My face scrunches as I think. “Aroused? I want to feel all the crazy things from my books that I’d never actually want to experience in real life. That’s what makes books so addictive. We get to safely experience every fantasy, ugly or not, within the protection of a couple hundred pages.”
He comes closer, but he doesn’t lower to the couch next to me as his eyes search me like he’s trying to read between the lines I’ve presented him. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“There’s lots of people like me.”
“There aren’t.” He shoves big hands into his pockets.
“You just hang with a narrow crowd. Girls like me are a dime a dozen. Just walk into a bookstore.”
He chuckles, lifting a hand to rub the scruff along his jaw. “I’ve got a gig tomorrow. Know you got class Thursday, but if you can manage it, I’d like you there.”
Rising from the couch, because it’s late and I need to get to bed, I promise, “I’ll be there.” Tossing the throw over the back of the couch, I clutch my book to my chest. “I should probably get to bed, though. It’s late and tomorrow comes early.”
Cash doesn’t respond as he watches me walk from the living room. I’m in the hall when I hear the deep pitch of his voice as it connects with every inch of my skin. “Where’s my goodnight kiss, Kitten?”
Heart stammering in my chest, I turn to see he’salready moving toward me. Every part of him swaggers with the confidence of a man who knows he’s getting what he wants, and even though there’s a part of me that wants to put him in his place, I can’t, because I want it just as much.
I meet him halfway, tipping my head back to look up at him. The man is so much taller than me, he dwarfs me. In the beginning, it made me feel small and maybe a little uneasy. Like prey. Now, it makes me feel safe, a little consumed, and cherished. The way his body moves around mine when we’re close but not touching makes me think of a shield. His head tips forward, shoulders in, body firm. His stance promises that if anyone or anything dares to try and hurt me, he’ll deflect any blow. His body is the armour that shields mine from harm. The dark inferno of his eyes vow that, to this man, I’m the only thing that matters on this whole globe.
None of it is true. It can’t be. Yet, I can’t help but feel it all the same.
This man overwhelms me.
It won’t be long before he devours me, too.
His eyes chase the tip of my tongue as I wet my lips, nervous. I don’t know why I’m nervous. He’s kissed me countless times. So many, in fact, that if I were blindfolded, and kissed by a thousand men, I’d be able to pick him out from the mass with confidence—the taste of him is a brand searedinto my soul.
A shudder rolls through my body, and I grip my book tighter against my chest. As though it’s the thing that breaks him, Cash takes that moment to lift his big hand to the side of my face, spearing his fingers into my hair the way he does. Then he’s dropping his mouth to mine.
The reaction I have to this man is purely instinctual. He touches me and my thoughts begin to fizzle. He kisses me and my very practical bubble of rationality simply pops. Every part of me warms, and yet I shiver when his free hand moves to fist the material of my beer t-shirt at the small of my back, forcing my body into the unforgiving wall of his. The rough material of his jean covered leg as it pushes between my naked legs is oddly arousing, and I clutch my book tighter, knuckles surely white. Cash kisses me like he always kisses me, as though he’s a dark knight determined to invade and conquer. He forces his tongue into my mouth, stroking, exploring and tasting me. He dominates me with tiny nips and deep, soul-grazing sweeps of his tongue. We’re standing in a brightly lit hallway, two people separated by clothes and bound by rules, and yet I get the sense that this man wants little more than to climb inside my body and consume me from the inside out.
The thought of him inside me has a small whimper climbing from the deep of me, another shudder—this one violent—crashing through my body with the forceof a deep-sea wave set on sinking a ship. He devours the sound, swallowing it like he wants to keep it there forever. His lips move over mine faster, insistent now. His fist in the back of my shirt spears open and he hauls me up against him, driving me into the wall. I’m so caught off guard by the force of him, the power he holds over me and the strength he uses to dominate, I drop my book. It connects with the floor with a loud thud, but it does nothing to jolt either of us from this haze of lust we’re blindly navigating. I feel as though he’s trying to kiss another moan from the deep of me. He’s a shark swimming dark waters, scenting blood. He’s crazed in his single-minded search for more. A deeper taste. A complete meal.
