“I should have,” I mutter, low.
“Why didn’t you?”
I turn.
Slow. Controlled.
Only I’m not in control anymore.
She looks up at me like she knows.
Like she feels what I’m holding back.
And then she touches me again—this time, her palm flat on my chest, right over my heart.
Like she wants to feel it break.
I catch her wrist before she moves higher.
Hold it there.
Pinned between us.
“You don’t get it,” I rasp, and my voice is all gravel now, all fucked-up restraint. “You think this is some twisted fairytale,butterfly? You think I’m the wolf who turns soft if you pet him long enough?”
Her eyes flash. “No. I think you’re the one who wants to bite.”
Fuck.
I’m going to hell.
I drag her against me and crush my mouth to hers like I’ve got minutes to live and she’s the only sin worth dying for.
Her lips are soft—too soft—but the way she gasps into it, the way she melts against my body like she was built to come undone for me, that’s what ruins me.
I back her into the mirror, hands fisting in her hair, her waist, I don’t even know what the fuck I’m grabbing anymore—I just need to feel her.
The glass behind her fogs with our heat, with the way she arches into me like she wants me to lose it.
She moans.
Jesus fuck.
Her tongue brushes mine and I lose whatever thread of self-control I had left. I grip her thigh and hike it over my hip, pressing her body flush to mine, letting her feel exactly what she’s doing to me.
My mouth is at her neck now, dragging over that spot behind her ear that makes her whimper, makes her hips buck against mine.
My hands are under her dress. Her skin is fire. My lips are moving. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying.
“Fucking perfect…”
“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me…”
“God, you taste like sin…”
I grind into her once—just once—and she gasps so pretty it nearly undoes me.
But then—fuck.
