“The feelings mutual,” I replied softly, encroaching on her personal space.
I could hear her breath. Feel her body goading me to come closer. I should have been smarter, and shoved her out the door before we got to this point. But I wasn’t smart.
This moment? The one where we stare, and stare, and stare until we suffocate underneath the weight of everything – good and ugly and hot – between us? It was inescapable. Fated. Predetermined. And fuck if I was going to do a damn thing to stop it.
Three…
Two…
One…
We lunged at the same time, our bodies crashing together with violent, arduous force. Our mouths melded together, mine slanting to suck on her plush lips, and hers wielding until we were a perfect set. I caged her in against the door, my fingers circling her wrists and lifting her arms above her head.
I nipped her lip, inhaling her startled gasp. Her chest rubbed against mine as she writhed, and pulled at the hold I had on her wrists. I wanted more. God, I needed more.
Kennedy took charge then, and I released her wrists to take hold of her hips, pulling her into me. Her hands fisted my shirt, and her hips rolled against mine. I was going wild, like I was trying to crawl out of my too-hot skin. It was sensory overload, my body strung tight and coiled with want. I lifted her up, my fingers digging into her delectable ass cheeks. Her long legs wrapped around my waist, the feel of the scorching heat between her legs eliciting a guttural moan from us both.
“Dane.” She sighed into my mouth, and I shivered.
Our heavy breathing, and her soft whimpers pierced the quiet. I wanted her, to get inside her, to fuck her to exhaustion. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice tried to tell me to stop, that we shouldn’t be doing this, but I silenced it quickly. Nothing would stop me tonight. Not even me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kennedy
HE. WAS. EVERYWHERE.
His hands, his fingers, his mouth, his body. Everywhere.
I had no idea what I was doing, what we were doing, but I couldn’t stop. My brain was sending messages to my body to stop! And my body simply responded with a resounding fuck off!
No matter how many times I tried to push way, I always ended up pulling him closer, rubbing my body against his like an animal marking its’ mate. It was such a primal response, one that he coaxed from my body with no effort at all. His body called, and mine answered. He stepped away from the door, holding me as if I was as light as a feather, and slowly dropped his knees to the floor instead of the bed. He lowered himself onto me, and the weight was so magnificent I sighed into his mouth.
“God, Kennedy,” he exhaled in a rush. “You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about this.”
His lips moved down my neck, and I felt his hands unbuttoning my shirt just below my breasts. He flicked his thumbs over my nipples, sending an electrical current straight between my legs.
“If this is how you hate me,” – I sucked in a jagged breath when he squeezed a breast – “You should have…Ohhh…” The roll of his hips against mine stopped whatever thought was in my head, and scrambled it. I’d wanted to tell him…I couldn’t remember anymore. I was gone, and thinking rationally wasn’t possible, what with all his hardness holding me down.
He chuckled, and the sound tickled my exposed skin. Everything inside me contracted and my hold on him tightened.
“You like that?” He asked huskily, barely above a coarse whisper. “Those little sounds you make, fucking hell, they have me so hard for you.”
His dirty talk? It was turning me on in ways I never could have imagined. Hearing him say words like ‘pussy’, and phrases like ‘hard for you’ had my hormones in a savage-like frenzy, my body crying out for him to do all kinds of dirty things to mine.
“I like it when you say fuck,” I whispered into his ear. Then I licked it, and gently bit his lobe.
He looked up at me, his blue eyes tinged with silver from the moonlight, and he reminded me of a predator, ready to prey on its’ next meal. Take me, I willed him silently. Just fucking take me.
“Anything else you like?” His raspy timbre told me he was struggling, that he was going as crazy as what I was. My cheeks warmed, and I ducked my face, a swift shyness coming over me. It was frightening, the way he made me say things I wouldn’t dare say otherwise. He tilted my chin with his knuckle. “Tell me,” he prompted. “I want to know.”
I licked my lips, trying to dispel of the dryness his gaze left in my mouth. “I like it when you tell me you’re hard for me.”
“And?”
I swallowed audibly.
I was aware of what was happening. I was the idiot in the romance novel who had sex – or was about to have sex – with the villain, knowing it would end in one of two ways. One: It’s a one-night stand, and the girl regrets it the next day, and can’t even look the evil bastard in the face. Or 2: It keeps happening, because the way said evil bastard makes her feel is addictive, and then he gets tired of it and leaves. Either way, I should put a stop to this before it goes too far, but how he feels about me - his hatred and vexation - aren’t deterring me like they should.