“Because I’ve spent weeks trying to forget the way you taste.” His voice is gravel now, low and rough. “And I’m done lying to myself.”
The fire snaps, sparks shooting skyward. Heat licks up my throat, spreading everywhere.
“I tried to stay away,” he grinds out. “Because I was angry. For your family. Because I wanted to hate you.” His knee presses harder into mine, his body leaning closer.
My pulse pounds so hard I can barely breathe. “And now?”
His hand twitches, close enough to brush mine. His eyes burn into me, dark and unyielding.
“Now all I can think about is you.”
TWENTY-FOUR
Warren
The moment the words leave my mouth —all I can think about is you— I already know I’ve gone too far to take them back.
Her wine glass slips from her hand, shattering against the hard floor, but neither of us looks down.
My body’s already moving, hauling her out of the chair and into my lap like it’s the only place she belongs. My mouth crashes onto hers, hot and demanding, five years of restraint snapping like a thread pulled too tight.
I’ve imagined this more times than I’ll ever admit—through the years she was gone, through the nights I tried to forget, even after I swore I’d never touch her again.
But none of those fantasies prepared me for now. For the way she tastes. Sweet, sharp, defiant. Like kissing her is the same thing as losing control, and I’ve built my whole life on control.
She moans into me, lips parting for the thrust of my tongue. My hands can’t keep up with the hunger in me. I fist her hair, dragging down her back, cupping her ass like I’ve waited half my life to get my hands on her.
The chair tips back as I stand, her legs cinching around my waist, heels digging into my ass like she’d chain me to her if she could. I stumble us toward the rug in front of the fire, lowering her onto it in a mess of limbs and moans.
The flames crack and pop, shadows flickering across her flushed face as I yank her sweater over her head.
Her bra is gone a second later, the swell of her breast filling my hand before my mouth closes over her nipple. She cries out, a sound that detonates straight in my chest, and arches into me.
The sound she makes nearly undoes me. Christ, all of the shit that has stopped me before now, none of that matters with her arching into my mouth, her nails digging like she needs me as much as I need her.
“Fuck, Warren!” Her fingers tear through my hair, yanking, holding me tighter as I lick and bite, moving lower, lower, until I’m shoving her leggings down, lips skating over the inside of her thigh.
The scent of her wrecks me. One taste and I’m lost, groaning into her dripping heat as my tongue finds her clit, flicking, plunging, sucking hard enough to make her hips buck clean off the rug.
“Oh my God—” The words fall apart on a moan that makes my cock ache.
I devour her like a starving man, tongue and lips working until she’s writhing, shameless sounds spilling from her throat.
Every groan rattles through me, vibrating in my chest as I hold her open, lapping, sucking, refusing to stop until her thighs quake against my shoulders.
Her cry rips into the night, sharp and violent, her orgasm tearing through her until she’s shaking apart in my hands.
But I don’t stop. Not until she’s tugging me up, clawingat my shirt, cooing my name like it’s the only one she’s ever known.
I cover her mouth with mine again, tasting her, stubble scraping her skin as I grind against her. She fumbles with my shirtsqqq, panting against my lips.
“Off,” she begs. “Now.”
I swear under my breath, tearing my shirt over my head in one savage pull, hands already at my belt. The zipper rasps loud in the quiet night before I’m kicking free, my cock hard and straining against her stomach, her body jerking at the heat of it.
“Condom,” she demands, reaching for my jeans. I fumble for my wallet, tearing the foil, rolling it on with shaking hands before sliding back down between her thighs.
One drag against her lubricated folds and I’m gone. I slam into her in one hard thrust, stealing her scream as she clutches at my shoulders. Goddamn, she’s tight.