I was going to give in.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blake
Creighton didn’t hold back.
His mouth opened over mine, and I was helpless to do anything except cling to him. He was rough. There was a primal edge to his kiss, and something inside of me, deep inside of me, began to respond. Like there was my own monster in me and he was waking her up.
My whole body shook. “Eight.”
He had one hand holding the side of my face, but suddenly both his hands were there. How he got the other free, I didn’t know. I also wasn’t surprised. He framed my face.
God. Those eyes of his. They were usually dead. They were black looking back at me, but I could see something stirring in them. There was a heat overlaying that, whatever was underneath.
A prick of fear stabbed me, and I shoved it aside.
He held still, still staring at me, and both of his thumbs swept over my cheeks. He tilted my head backward, dropping his mouth to my throat. A groan left me.
That felt good. That felt so good.
“Creighton,” I gasped again, my hands grabbing onto his biceps.
His hands left my face and dropped to my thighs. He lifted me up, swept the pillow out from between us, and pulled me on top of him. I sank down, feeling how hard he was.
I pulled back and looked at where we met. We were both still clothed. I hadn’t wanted to feel completely disarmed against him, so I stayed in my day clothes when I waited for him. Jeans and a sweatshirt. He came to me in black athletic joggers and a black sweatshirt. I loved this look on him. Always had. It made him look like an elite athlete, and sometimes I liked to indulge. I’d daydream about what life would be like if we were different people. If he was a professional athlete and I was his girlfriend. Or hell, maybe someone like the owner of a bookstore.Notting Hill, where neither of us were known.
But Creighton would turn those blank eyes on me, and the reminder that there was no point to daydreaming would return. Tonight, though, I could pretend. I could indulge. He tasted my throat, and another tremor went through me.
I was giving in. At least for the night.
I was letting myself be his.
A thrill burst in me as I rocked over him.
He surged up, his hands clamping over my hips, and as I began moving over him, he moved with me.
He kept tasting my throat, sliding to linger over my pulse.
Dark hunger amped up in me. I felt electrified and alive, and I didn’t know how to handle all these sensations that he was giving me. They were big and strong and demanding to be met. Demanding to be faced.
I gulped. My head was beginning to swim. My vision was clouding.
One of his hands slid to my waist and slipped under my sweatshirt. He let it rest there, but the feel of his palm against my naked skin, knowing how close it was to where I was aching for more, another groan escaped me.
I didn’t try suppressing how my body was shaking. Raking my hands up his arm, over his shoulders, up the back of his neck, my fingerstangled with his hair like in his warehouse. This time, though, I gave in to my need and yanked his head back.
He let me, his eyes opening to slits to meet my gaze.
This monster was mine. All mine. He was letting me do whatever the fuck I wanted to do to him. I was drunk on that power. A sudden impatience whipped through me, making me slide even closer to the edge. I was slipping.
I didn’t give a fuck.
Creighton frowned, seeing the storm inside of me, but didn’t comment.
I kept one of my hands holding his hair, kept holding his head back, and lifted up from his lap. I only knelt upward, my other hand making quick work of unbuttoning my jeans.
His hands moved to help me.
