Our fighting coaxed my unseen claws to grow a little more. My temper made my legs firmer; my vision clearer. My body unknowingly found a cure from dreaded vertigo, all while embracing anger and rage.
Jethro noticed my tension, stroking my shoulders as if I were a skittish prey. “We’re simple creatures, Ms. Weaver. I know what’s happening to you.” He smiled gently, his gold eyes attempting to look soft but unable to hide the steel beneath. “Your skin is hot. You’re breathing faster.”
He ducked his head, murmuring, “You like this. You like being pushed past your limits.”
I shook my head. “You’re wrong. There’s nothing about you that I like.”
He sighed, his gaze whispering over my mouth. “Lying won’t work. I know you’re growing wet for me, wanting me.” His touch morphed from menacing to lightning, sending a rain of sparks through my blood. “Want to know how I know? Because I taste it in the air. I smell it all around you.”
My lips parted. My chest rose and fell, increasing faster and faster. I couldn’t look away; I couldn’t push him away. I couldn’t do anything but revel in the intoxicating melting, glowing, sparking need building rapidly in my core.
Closing my eyes, I swallowed hard, trying so hard to dispel the sick and twisted desire he conjured. “I’m—I’m not.”
He ran his thumbs over my shoulders, following my collarbone with infinite softness. “You’re not?” he breathed. “You’re not feeling the rush of lust or the knowledge you’d throw all your rules away for just…one…little…taste?” His lips came so close to mine, pulling away in the ultimate tease.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
I’d lost control of my body, hurtling straight for a cataclysm where everything was hot and sharp and intense.
I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know what he wanted.
He’s fucking with your mind. That’s all he’s doing.
His thumbs stroked higher, smoothing away the bruises he’d caused on my neck. “Tell me you’re not wet for me. Say it.”
I shook my head, willing the words to come. “I’m not. I’m…”
“What?” Jethro murmured.
The ache grew stronger, sending a rush of dampness against my knickers. My body didn’t care this was a monster. My body didn’t care about the future. All it cared about was curbing the intolerable need.
Opening my heavy eyes, I said, “I’m not wet. Not for you.”
My hands balled, fighting against the thick intoxication. I couldn’t let him steal the warmth from Kite. He’d already turned the small flame into an out of control inferno, cindering my morals, turning my hatred to ash. I couldn’t fall into his web—he’d eat me alive.
But, one kiss…would it be so wrong?
To take something from him when he’d already taken so much from me?
I swayed closer, unconsciously seeking everything he dangled before me. I wasn’t equipped to play these games. I was na?ve and woefully unprepared for combat where lust was used as the weapon.
“You’re a little liar, Ms. Weaver.” He dropped one hand from my shoulders, tracing my contours until he captured my hip, the other skated upward, cupping my cheek. Every millimetre he travelled sent sparks along my skin unlike anything I’d ever felt before.
His tongue appeared, licking his lips. “You want this.” His knee nudged against mine, forcing my legs to spread. “You want something you know you shouldn’t.” With seamless authority, he pressed against me, tilting his hips into mine.
I shivered. Hating him. Lusting for him. Hating myself. Loving the forbidden rush.
The reasons for our fight flew away on soundless wings, leaving me with no argument against the swelling swollen ache.
“All that separates my cock from your pussy is a few fragile pieces of clothing.” He drove upward, grinding himself punishingly. “You won’t stop me.” There was no space, no secrets—our bodies glued together.
My mind went blank with sheer numbing pleasure. I felt every ridge and contour of him. From the pressure of his shoe against mine to the hot heat in his jeans growing larger every second.
You know what he intends to do. Stop this, I screamed at my betraying body. But it replied in force with a clenching ripple turning my legs to jelly.
I held my breath. His hard body was as unmovable as the wall I stood trapped against. His ripped stomach pressed against mine.
I wasn’t cushy or curvy. I had no feminine attributes—I’d exercised away any hope at softness.
But it only amplified the intensity.
There was nothing to cushion the firmness of bones and sinew and craving flesh. It was visceral. All consuming.
“Tell me again you’re not wet for me.” His hooded eyes imprisoned mine. “Tell me another lie.”
I tried to look away, but he thrust again, enticing another ripple of pleasure. I hadn’t planned on being the innocent girl. The stuck-up princess who never self-pleasured or enjoyed men. I hated that I came across priggish, uptight, and repressed. Those traits were a hazard of my upbringing, and I desperately wanted to turn them into weapons.