His eyes lock on to mine, raw and exposed. “I didn’t think so before tonight. But yeah. It could.”
The truth is brutal. Before I can think better of it, my fingers brush his cheekbone where a bruise is purpling beneath his skin. “We’ll have to ice this shiner now and put makeup on it tomorrow morning before you leave for class.”
He stiffens. “Don’t…”
“Why?”
His throat bobs. “Because I don’t deserve—” He cuts himself off, jaw grinding as if he’d rather swallow glass than finish that sentence.
I cup his jaw anyway. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve from me.”
His green eyes darken like the ocean right before a storm. “You should be afraid of me,” he murmurs.
“I’m not.” I shake my head, barely breathing. “The only thing I’m afraid of is losing you.”
Something breaks in his expression. A crack splinters his resolve. It’s held too much weight. Everything he’s been trying to juggle.
“I’m fucking terrified of how much I want you.” Cormac leans forward, his forehead nearly touching mine.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, his grip tight to mirror the fire in his veins over what happened tonight. “Tell me to stop.”
I should. I may not survive this man.
“Kiss me,” I say, taking the same risk as him.
“This is a mistake,” he whispers, voice shredded.
“Probably,” I whisper back.
He growls a curse from his chest, and then…Good Lord…the man is on me.
His mouth crashes over mine, hungry, starved, and desperate. I gasp, grabbing his shirt to feel his heartbeat pounding against my palm. The muscle is trying to escape his chest, so it can bleed in my hands. He hauls me onto his lap, large hands locking around my hips.
My fingers tangle in his hair, and he groans into my mouth, deep and sinful.
Heat and thunder and need. Every line we swore we wouldn’t cross just gotobliterated.
He carries me out of the small bathroom and into the living room. Heart pounding, I hear his measured stepsagainst the wooden floor. He drops me on the sofa, his body covering mine.
Cormac’s hot mouth trails fire down my throat. My shirt,hisUCLA T-shirt that I put on before I crashed here earlier, is shoved up until his hands find my breasts.
“Cormac,” I gasp, arching into him.
His breath is torture against my skin. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I think I do.”
He stares, eyes molten, scared, and ruined. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“It’s already happening.” I look down. “You’re squeezing my tits.”
“Fuck.” He kisses me again, slower this time. Then he pulls back suddenly, breathing hard. “If I don’t stop now, I won’t stop…”
My pulse stutters. “Then don’t stop.”
“Do you want to be my proper wife or my whore?”
“Can I be both?” I’m not ashamed to admit I like it on the dirty side.