I lashed out. My arms came up. I opened my palm. And I slapped the self-righteous, egotistical arsehole on the cheek.
The moment went from lust-heavy to stagnant with violence. We stared, caught dead centre in war.
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he snapped.
“Kiss me.”
“You’re ruining my life.”
“Kiss me.”
“You’re—”
“Kiss me, Jethro. Kiss me. Just fucking kiss me and give me—”
His body crashed against mine. His hands flew up, grabbing my cheeks and holding me firm. His lips, oh his lips, they bruised mine as his head tilted, and with pure anger, he gave me what I’d wanted for weeks.
He kissed me.
My lungs were empty—he’d stolen all my air, but I no longersurvived on oxygen. I survived on his mouth, his taste, his unbridled energy pouring down my throat.
His tongue tore past my lips, taking me savage and hungry. There was nothing sweet or gentle. This was a punishment. A reminder that I hadn’t won. He wasn’t kissing me. He was fighting me in every underhanded way.
His hands dropped from my cheeks, cupping my breasts. The violence in his touch throbbed instantly. I arched my back, opening my mouth wider to scream, but he swallowed my cries, kissing me deeper, harder, stealing every inch of sanity I had left.
I thought a kiss would put me on even ground—show him that he did care. That he was human—just like me. I hadn’t gambled on being detonated into a billion tiny pieces that had no notion of who I’d been before he’d stolen my soul.
He backed me up, faster and faster to the bed. His breath saturated my lungs. His touch skated from my cheeks, to my breasts, to my waist, to my arse. Jerking me hard against the huge length of arousal in his jeans.
The bed stopped our motion, tumbling us onto the sheets, but nothing, absolutely nothing could unweld our lips.
We were joined, kissing, frantic,desperate.
He groaned as I slid my hands beneath his t-shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He was blood and fire and heat.
So different to the glacier he pretended to be.
“Fuck,” he grunted as my fingers drifted to his buckle. I thanked my past of making countless pairs of trousers as I ripped through the barrier and dived into his boxer-briefs with eager fingers.
His teeth clamped around my bottom lip as I stroked him. The faint taste of metallic smeared between us as our kiss turned into pure violence.
My vision went black, seeing only white sparks and sensation.
Jethro’s hands suddenly went to my waist, rolling off me to shove up my dress and tear my knickers from my hips. He shoved them desperately down my legs.
The world spun faster and faster as we discarded every item in our way and left the rest. Our lips never unglued; our heads twisted and turned as our tongues slipped and glided.
Moans and groans echoed in my ears, but I didn’t know whomade them. Fingers bruised my skin, nails scratched my flesh, and our souls grew teeth—snapping and tearing, trying to consume the other before it was too late.
We were furious.
We were wild.
We were completely delirious with lust.
Jethro grabbed my hip, planting me hard against the mattress. My inner thighs tickled with wetness of all-consuming desire. I’d never been so wet. Never been so slick and dying to be taken.
