The kiss starts slow. Testing. It feels like a whispered question rather than a harsh demand. He tastes like whiskey and want, and when his tongue traces the seam of my lips, I open for him with a gasp that sounds like surrender.
Because it is. God help me, it is.
His hands slide from my face to my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair with a possessiveness that makes my knees weak. He angles my head, deepening the kiss, and I fist my hands in his shirt and pull him closer.
I've been kissed before. By his brother, in those early days when I still believed Jonah might be someone worth loving. But those kisses were nothing like this.
This is fire and drawing all at once.
This is everything I told myself I'd never feel for another Moses man.
Drake groans against my mouth, the sound primal and devastating, and his free hand finds the small of my back, pressing my smaller body flush against his hardened muscles. The evidence of his arousal burns against my belly, and a moan escapes me—a sound I didn't know I was capable of making.
He swallows it like it belongs to him. Like I belong to him.
His mouth leaves mine to trail down my jaw, my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot where my pulse pounds frantically. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he murmurs against my skin. "How long I've watched you, craved you, dreamed of having you exactly like this."
The confession should terrify me. Instead, it makes me ache.
"Drake…" His name is a moan on my lips.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, and what I see in his eyes steals my breath. Hunger, yes. Need that matches my own. But underneath it, something vulnerable. Something that looks almost like fear.
"Tell me to stop." His voice is ragged. "Tell me this is a mistake and I'll walk away. I'll give you space. I'll?—"
I silence him the only way I can think of. By rising on the tips of my toes and pressing my lips to his.
This kiss is different. It's me claiming him instead of the other way around. My tongue sliding past his lips, my hands tangling in his soft, silver hair, my body pressing into his until I can feel every hard inch of him against me.
He groans into my mouth and lifts me effortlessly, his hands cupping my ass as my legs wrap around his waist. He takes three steps and my back hits the bookshelves, first editions be damned. He pins me there with his hips while his mouth devours mine.
"Katriana." My name sounds like a prayer on his lips. Like salvation. "Baby girl. My little rose."
The endearments shudder through me. I roll my hips against his, desperate for friction, desperate for more, and he responds by grinding against my center until I see stars.
"Please," I gasp. "Please, Drake, I need?—"
"I know what you need." He nips at my lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. "But not tonight. Not like this."
I want to scream at him. Want to demand he finish what he started.
But when he pulls back and sets me gently on my feet, I see the restraint costing him. His chest heaves. His pupils are blown wide with desire. And the bulge straining against his trousers leaves no doubt about what he wants.
"When I take you," he says, his voice rough as gravel, "it won't be because you're angry or confused or trying to prove something. It will be because you want me. Only me. And you're ready to admit it." He takes my hand and presses it against the thick ridge straining his trousers.
I can't help but gasp. My God. The man is huge.
He moves my hand up and down his length and watches the heat enter my face. I know because I feel the wave of scarlet move over my cheeks.
"I'll be waiting for you, Katriana."
He leans in and presses one last kiss to my forehead, tender and devastating, and then he's gone.
I stand alone among the books, trembling, touching my swollen lips, and realize with terrifying clarity that this man is going to be my undoing.
And the most dangerous part?
I'm starting to want him to be.
