His hand raises, and the words of rejection lodge in my throat as his hand gently grasps the back of my neck.
He slowly begins to lower his lips to mine, stopping short.
“Tell me no.” His voice is guttural. My eyes flick back and forth between his brown irises.
“Why?”
He swallows hard, but doesn’t reply. I don’t want to tell him no. What happens if I tell him yes? Why does he want me to tell him no? The string of thoughts slips through my mind briefly.
“Yes.” My heart slams against my chest so hard with adrenaline a harsh breath escapes my lips.
His brows pinch together like he’s in pain.
“You dumb girl.”
His lips devour mine, his tongue coaxing into my mouth like the Devil himself, sliding against mine in a way I can’t deny. This is so bad, so wrong, yet it feels so right. He growls into my mouth and I inhale sharply, taking in his breath of danger and sin, filling my world of innocence and justice, with something dark and unholy. My eyes open and I watch him; his brows are furrowed angrily, his breathing harsh.
The taste of him sobers me, but the world that was once blurry doesn’t become any clearer; if anything, everything just got a whole lot more confusing. His other hand rests on my hip, my breath becoming sporadic from the contact. My eyes lock with his, and the hand on my hip slowly slides under my shirt. His fingers skimming along my stomach, my body trembles in reaction. I open my mouth to object, but he stifles my words with his tongue diving into my mouth, his large hand taking the leap and grabbing my left tit. My nipple hardens painfully, my body warming between my legs in a way I have never experienced. My eyes close, enveloping me in a world of make-believe, his lips feeling perfect against mine, his hands up my shirt making me crave more. I am so lost. So drunk on lust. So conflicted. I want to disappear into the dry air of Las Vegas, free of judgment and rules.
He brings with him a course of adrenaline that my body eats up, and is attracted to like no other. An addiction; one taste and I'm hooked. Judgment and reality out the window, my only focus is finding that heart-racing, world-stopping high.
A car passing by honks its horn and I jump out of my blind lust, out of temptation and into reality.
What am I doing?!
I put my hands against his hard chest and push him away, our lips trying to stay connected despite our bodies' departure.
He finally steps back, his tongue sliding against his bottom lip like he can’t get enough, his eyes glazed over.
“That was a mistake,” I whisper, rolling my lips over one another. What the fuck did I just do?
I swipe my hands into my hair. He’s vile. A murderer. A ruthless Outlaw. Yet, I find him unbelievably attractive, and interesting. It’s beyond infuriating, and irritating.
“Think it’s time for little girls to go home, Rookie. You don’t belong in my world,” he rasps. His words anger me more than ever, offending beyond comprehension.
“Fuck you, Zeek! I am an officer of the law, and you!” I point at him, words starting to slur. “You’re a criminal, one everyone around here seems to *foot around—”
“Everyone except you,” he interrupts. “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he whispers, his head leaning back, eyes gleaming down at me. His question is laced with so many emotions, and I'm not sure how to answer.
Truth is, I am afraid of Zeek. I'm afraid of him for so many reasons.
“Who says I’m not? You’re a bad guy, Zeek,” I mutter. Citizens and law enforcement are conditioned to fear him, what he represents.
He steps forward, his hands slipping into his jeans pockets.
“I could be a good guy,” he whispers, looking at me as if he’s trying to tell me something. His hair falls in his face, his eyes peering at me from underneath. He’s so handsome, so ruggedly good-looking, and strong. If I follow him, his footsteps would lead into the darkness, a side of the world that would surely scar me, bleeding me of any hope that love does exist.
I shake my head, my brows furrowing. “Your record would suggest otherwise, Zeek.”
He chuckles and looks down, like my words pain him. That I marked him a criminal without really getting to know him, and it hurt. Bile rises in my throat at the thought, my chest aching that my words were so cruel.
“Yeah, well, nobody said being a good guy was ever fun. I do what I do, it’s who I am.” I scoff in response, my eyes rolling. “Ya know, Rookie, not all law enforcement are so-called good guys.” I wince, not sure what he means by that. “We call you guys fucking pigs for a reason. You’re greedy, dirty, and unreliable.”
“Just leave me alone,” I whisper, my head spinning. I turn, racing up the steps to my door, needing to escape him.
“Fuck this.” He sounds as if I’m a waste of time, cutting me. His defeated posture now arrogant, he's back to the Outlaw I was trained to know.