And I latched on to that.
My thighs slid farther open. His hands slid to my ass, pushing my skirt up to my hips. He tugged at my thong, pulling it tight enough to spread me.
His lips found my throat as I gasped.
This was the only language we ever spoke fluently.
I once read an explanation of suicide that said it was like someone jumping out of a burning building. They didn’t jump because they wanted to die, but because they feared the fire.
I ground myself onto Grim’s denim-covered cock as that explanation ran circles in my head. He gripped my hips, pushing me even deeper.
We were like two people stuck in a building. Refusing to jump or ask for help. Lying in the fire untilit consumed us. But it wasn’t the fire that drew us together, it was the smell of the smoke and ashes. The promise of ruin, and peace that follows.
I wondered if that was why he couldn’t let me go. If he felt the same irrational, self-destructive, and fucking deadly need.
I know that’s why I can’t.
“Don’t hold out for me, Gemma,” he said against my skin, moving with me. “I’m already dead and gone.”
Something stupid and insane overcame me, driven by the hungry, pained way he stared at me, or maybe the way his hands dragged down my back as if trying to pull me into his soul.
“There hasn’t been anyone since you,” I whispered. “Not since that night on…on the beach.”
I wished I could swallow it back into my mouth.
He knotted his hand in my hair, yanking my head back to find my eyes. Like he wanted to see if I was telling the truth.
A moment later he groaned. “Don’t tell me that.” The jagged, pained sound slid into my bones.
He grabbed me by the hips and flipped me onto the soft velvet couch. The music thrummed through the fabric, vibrating against my back. One leg between mine, an arm above my head, I was caged.
“No one’s taken care of you?” he asked.
This moment was different from any we’d shared. There was an urgency, a hunger in him. His head was bent, hair falling across his eyes, but beneath the locks I could see the gleam.
Feral. Predatory.
I shook my head.
“Poor girl.” His free hand skated across my pussy, a softrestraint in his touch that did not match the savage gleam in his eyes. I nearly jolted when he found the soft, bare skin he’d exposed.
“No one’s made you come?” He stroked the backs of his knuckles along my pussy. Soft. Light. Too in control.
“You must be so strung out.” As he spoke, one knuckle parted me.
My mouth dropped, but I said nothing. I could only nod frantically, like some possessed thing. Iwasstrung out. Iwaslosing it. And the too light way he touched me wasn’t helping.
He stilled. “Why?”
I know he knew why. He wanted to hear it from me. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t give in to that. I couldn’t tell him it was because he fucking ruined me. Because just the thought of someone else touching me made me want to dry heave. Because it was like everything about me was waiting for him.
I bit my lip. His eyes dropped to it. He lowered the distance between us, so close I could once again taste the whiskey. Grim’s kiss was forever burned inside me. Punishing, insatiable. I closed my eyes.
This is it. After five years ofnothing,we’ll finally kiss.
All at once he pushed off me, putting distance between us, sitting on the edge of the couch.
“Fuck,” he hissed, dragging his hands through his hair. Head in one hand, he craned his neck to look at me, eyes dropping to where my skirt was still pushed up. He shook his head. “God fucking dammit.”
