The Bachelor Contract(36)

Brant breathed in the moment. One-night stand.

His grip on reality—on the situation—on the anger and the fear, and all of the ugly dragging him into the depths of hell—shattered in her arms.

Nikki’s body shook as she deepened the kiss, slowly entwining her arms around his neck, holding on for dear life.

He ducked his head in her neck, inhaled, and shook with the need to do it again and again. Real. She was real. In his arms.

I’d find you anywhere, his heart beat.

No. Not anymore. This was the end. Not the beginning.

He kissed her harder. Rather than retreat, she met him with each thrust of his tongue, whimpering when his fingertips dug into her hips, dragging her underwear down her perfect legs and tossing them aside.

Brant drank her in.

One night. If he only had on more night with her, he would want it like this—with moonlight kissing her skin. No real barriers between them, and yet everything was standing in the way, wasn’t it?

Even the air was charged with things left unsaid, baggage that refused to be dropped. Hurt that refused to be healed. Because healing was the most painful part of the process, wasn’t it? And he was done with that sort of pain.

But pleasure? That he could do. Let it consume them both.

Nikki reached for his suit jacket, her hands shaking as she slowly undid button after button and pushed the jacket off his shoulders.

Every so often, her fingers would graze his chest. It was torture. He was strung so tight that by the time she finally tugged his shirt free, he picked her up and carried her to the massive bed. Then he turned down the lights until blackness covered the entire room.

Darkness covered her face. He was thankful for the dark.

Brant was a coward. An angry, lying coward.

He crushed his mouth to hers in a punishing kiss, a kiss that told her how much he still hated, which meant it also had to show how much he still loved.

He would always love. And that was the problem. Because the only way he could make it through his life was to let his hate and love coexist, and too often his hate won. Because hate at least didn’t demand that same healing that love did.

Exposed. Bloody. Vulnerable.

Left it for dead—that was what she’d done to his heart. So yeah, he deserved this moment with her, the last night they never had. The last kiss she refused to give.

He stole it. Kept it. Coveted it.

His tongue skimmed her trembling lips over and over again. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she clung to him, kissing him deeper, sucking his soul dry, marking him just as deeply as he was marking her.

A blast of heat surged between them as he slid his fingers down her thigh. When he found her core, she let out a little gasp.

He pulled his hand back and yanked off the remainder of his clothes. The silence crackled, sizzled, like the calm before the storm.

This would change everything. This would destroy her. Even the playing field.

And yet he couldn’t stop.

The hate was winning. Even though his heart beat for her.

He kissed her again. His hands weighed her breasts, and with a groan he moved to her hips, positioning her body as she panted beneath him.

They were playing with fire.

And Brant—fucking burned.

With a sliding thrust, he invaded, he selfishly took his.

Nikki cried out, her nails digging into his skin, and then she matched his every movement, every rhythm.

“Hell…” He hissed out a breath. “You feel good.”

She didn’t say anything, just slid her hands slowly up the sides of his ribs. Then she hooked her hands around his neck and pulled him down for another series of possessive kisses that had him forgetting his own damn name.

She was his.

She’d been his since the minute he walked into that bar.

She would always be his.

He just hated that as much as he owned her—she owned him equally as much.

This wasn’t about her. This wasn’t even about them.

It was about Brant.

He shoved the guilt away, letting the pleasure take control, the same pleasure he told himself he deserved as his body said, Good-bye. And his heart said, Not yet.

Another thrust.

Nikki cried out.

His.

“You’ll always be mine,” he whispered in a hoarse voice. A sea of pleasure surged between them. Her body tightened around him, pulling him tight like it was promising never to let him go. Brant rose over her again. She was close—he could feel it in the way she tensed beneath him.

With a shudder, he kissed her back, his lips moving against her mouth. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go.”

“I don’t want to.” She tugged his head down, kissing him again. “That will mean it’s over.”

She was destroying him, ruining the selfishness of the moment, making him feel everything. “It won’t ever be over.” The truth hung between them. “Let go.”