I turn my head, and the flames behind him somehow reflect in the harsh grays of his irises. They burn where they lash against me, pulling me in, scarring me indefinitely.
My hand lifts, moving of its own accord, and I capture his strong chin between my fingers. My thumb presses into the gentle cleft hidden by his stubble, just below his bottom lip—the one I spent years drooling over as a teenager, imagining getting to do this very thing.
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I blot out every other single thought, focusing instead on how surreal this is. How I can’t believe I’m sitting here, touching a god, wishing I could keep him.
“Maybe I’ll let you,” I whisper, and my hand slides down his chin to the back of his neck, tugging him into a brutal kiss that I just know I’ll feel on my teeth for years to come.
35
Riley’s kiss consumes me.
Lights me aflame in places I didn’t know existed.
It’s fucking dangerous, but I let her pull me in anyway.
Her lips move slowly against mine, coaxing and caressing like she’s trying to memorize the feel of our mouths together. My hand comes up and tangles in her hair, guiding her movements, desperate to feel more.
Clarity shoves through the haze of lust clouding my judgment, and I pause, my eyes popping open. Up close, I can count the light freckles dusting her nose, and see the exact shape of her scars; my hand slides around, cupping her jaw, and I trail my thumb over the one beneath her cheek.
Lips still sealed to mine, she opens her eyes; the pale, watery blues knock the rebellion out of me like wind being let out of sails, and I tilt her head, climbing up so I’m hovering over her as she sinks deeper into the couch.
Thighs trapped between mine, her robe rides up, taunting me. Disconnecting from her takes every ounce of willpower I possess, but I do it, licking the seam of her mouth as I pull back.
She scowls. “Please don’t tell me you’re regressing into being an asshole again.”
I smirk, shifting so the rigid outline of my dick presses into her hips. “Who said I stopped?”
“We were having a moment,” she whines.
Bringing my hand to rest on the arm of the couch, I hold myself up, using the opposite one to toy with the collar of her robe. She watches the movement, her gaze glued to my fingers, and I can tell she’s anxious.
“Breathe,” I murmur, trailing the pad of my index finger lightly down the valley between her breasts. “I just want to talk for a minute.”
Fear pulses in those beautiful blue eyes, and they fall closed. “I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
“Sure you can.”
“I can’t,” she snaps, and when she looks at me, tears fill her lids and spill over, staining her porcelain cheeks. “Please don’t make me.”
Bending, I press my forehead to hers, inhaling and letting her incinerate my lungs.
“I have to.” There’s a strain in my voice, something untethered and miserable, because goddamn if there isn’t a sick vindication in seeing her cry for me, over and over.
It’s satisfying in a way I’ve never known, sending bolts of arousal through me like lightning striking the sky.
My cock jerks against her hip, encouraged by her tears, and I reach up to collect them on my thumb; without giving it much forethought, I slide that same hand beneath the waist of my pants, pinching the bead of precum bubbling at the tip of my shaft, and bring it back up, mixing the two liquids together.
Pressing the wet pad to her mouth, I silently ask for entry. She hesitates, discomfort etched into her face, but after a second, she parts her lips enough for me to push in.
Her tongue swirls around, licking like she’s trying to embed my fingerprint into her memory. My throat constricts, my hips pinning her harder against the sofa, and something new flashes in her gaze.
Something carnal and needy that sends a shot of desire straight to my cock.
She sucks my thumb in to the knuckle, laving around like she’s addicted to the taste.
I pull out, and she releases me with a loud pop.
“More?” she asks, and I swear to fucking God I almost combust on the spot.
“Are you begging, pretty girl?” Lifting my knee, I use it to pry her legs apart, fitting myself between them.
Rolling my hips against her hot center, I press my open mouth to her temple to try and stave off the visceral reaction I’m having to her.
“Do you… do you like when I do?” She clears her throat, and I feel her fingers tug on the hem of my T-shirt. “Beg, I mean.”
“I believe I’d like anything you did,” I say, pulling back just enough to maintain eye contact. “But yes, begging is up there.”
“Why?”
A frown pulls at my lips. “You want me to explain why I like it?”
Crimson crawls up her neck, embarrassment flushing her face. She turns her head toward the fire, gulping. “Forget it, that was stupid.”
“Stop doing that.” I grip her chin, tugging her back so she’s forced to look at me. “Stop immediately shutting down and beating yourself up when someone asks for more information. This is how humans communicate. You’re not stupid, Riley. Stupid girls don’t get away with the shit you have.”
She doesn’t say anything, but a shred of surrender splashes in her irises; it’s not complete, but it’s enough, and I rotate my hips again, notching my erection against her needy cunt. I can practically smell her already.
“It’s about control, Riley.” I lower my head, catching the gasp that escapes as I grind into her clit. “It’s acknowledging an imbalance of power and reinforcing it for the person who holds more.” Slow thrust. Grind. Repeat. “It’s you trusting me to use that power to please you. To corrupt you.”
The tie of her robe loosens with each gyration of my hips, and I push the cotton material aside, needing to see more of her.
“Are you going to corrupt me?” she asks, her voice saccharine—but not in an innocent, genuine way.
I look up at her as my fingers find her cunt, sliding deftly between already slick folds, and her lashes fan across her cheeks as she stares back.
Uncertain, but still somehow unwavering.