It’s like a sucker punch to the gut. Combined with her beauty and her sad eyes as she lifts them to my face, she’s nearly the end of me.
I’ve had a lot of beautiful women in my time. Women were always attracted to me, I guess a lot were attracted to the whole biker bad boy image, and the promise of a hard and dirty fuck—no strings attached. After I signed the marriage certificate, there was never anyone else.
I might be a lot of things, but I’m not a cheater.
I am not my father.
None of the women I had before can compare to Ami. She’s just… different, and I can’t explain how. She’s a virtual stranger to me, off limits. She should be mine, but she’s not, and maybe that’s why I want her so fucking badly that I can’t think straight and can barely keep my sanity around her. It’s why my body is reacting like I’m a horny fucking teenager and I can’t control it.
For one fucking year, the memory of her haunted me. It drove me crazy and wrecked me. It turned me to smoke and ashes and razed me to the ground. I thought of her as a betrayer and an enemy and yet here she is, with her soft beauty and her sad eyes and that broken aura hovering around her like a fucked up halo and I never noticed any of it until now.
Her gentle vulnerability is like a kick in the balls and I curse myself for never having noticed that she’s not all spitfire and anger and flippant beauty. That just a portion of that might be false. That maybe she’s fading away too.
The silence in the air snaps between us like a lightning storm just moved into the tiny apartment and is zapping the air between us. I can almost hear those rolls of thunder.
I raise the mug to my lips and sip at the coffee, surprised to find it’s not as bitter as I assumed, and it’s actually quite good. Her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes. Her eyes never leave my face, which is fucking disconcerting, given that her lips are pressed together in a thin, silent line like she’s suddenly been struck mute.
I have no idea what she’s thinking or feeling.
I have no fucking idea what I’m feeling.
Her lips tremble for just a second, before her tongue sweeps out to wet the fuller bottom one. My cock gives a kick in my jeans, saluting the movement. I would have accused her of being a temptress, of doing it on purpose, just because she knows it drives me nuts watching her wet those lips, lips that I’ve now tasted, lips that I want fucking more of, but I can’t accuse her of being a tease when she looks like a lost little girl, swallowed up by that big chair like she wishes she could disappear.
I wish she didn’t look so damn vulnerable. Or that she didn’t look so sexy doing it. Because noticing how beautiful she is and reacting to it like a carnal fucking devil make me a real bastard.
It makes me everything I never wanted to be. Everything I fought so hard not to turn into.
“Did you like it?”
I stare at her, as stunned by the sound of her voice as she looks for asking me in the first place. “Like what?” I take another swallow of coffee and this time, I focus on that mug, not on the way Ami’s lips part or how I want to brutalize them with my own.
“Liked it when you- uh- when you kissed me?”
Fuck. If only she knew just how much I liked it. How I want to throw that coffee onto the damn floor and tackle her in that chair. How I want to push up that dress and lick my way up her thighs like an animal, straight to her hot little core. How I want to pick her up and thrust her on top my face, so she can ride and writhe on me while I feast on her cunt before I slam her lower, onto my aching dick and fuck her into another zip code.
“Yeah. I fucking liked it,” I grind out instead, since it’s slightly more tactful.
When I look back at her, I find her blinking hard and biting down even harder into that pillow soft lush bottom lip, turning it an even brighter of cherry red. Her hair is tossed about her shoulders in disarray, her eyes brimming and shimmering with unshed tears. Her nostrils flare when she notices me noticing her, and she looks so amazed that it makes my hands tremble on the mug.
Tremble with desire.
Tremble with the need to have her.
Tremble with the need to hold myself back.
Desire to show her that she’s wanted. That she’s needed. I want to be the one to teach her that her sweet, honeyed rain scent reaching me even over the scent of coffee hovering just below my nose, is the most perfect thing on the fucking planet. I want her tears, her sunshine smiles, her purity, and her passion. I want to twist it in my hands, to break it, and shatter it, and fucking protect it because she’s mine to break and no one else’s.
I slowly bend at the waist and set the coffee cup down on the floor.
Ami’s eyes track every single movement.
“I should get those papers,” she whispers, the words like a venomous snake between us.
She stands so abruptly that it makes my head spin. I throw myself to my feet, nearly knocking over the mug of coffee. I close the distance between us in an instant. I stop just short oftouching her. I tower over her easily, my height dominating and dwarfing her.
She’s not mine. I know that I’m the last person that she wants and that we might be legally bound, but she’s off limits. A universe away. She’s always slipped through my fingers. She always will. Still, I can’t stop myself. I can’t fucking help that her sweet scent floods my nostrils, intoxicating me, making me drunk. I can’t help that I feel her heat eating up those few inches between us, leaching into me.
I don’t stop myself when I reach out and grasp her chin, bracing that delicate porcelain skin between my thumb and index finger. Her eyes go wide with unfathomable expression. They darken to black and her pupils eat up the irises.