The next, I'm leaning in, closing the distance, pressing my lips to his.
He goes rigid.
Every muscle in his body locks up, and I think I've made a terrible mistake?—
Then he's kissing me back.
It's not gentle. It's not sweet.
It's desperate and hungry and raw, like we're both drowning and this is the only air we can find.
His hands come up to cup my face, careful of the bruises, and mine fist in his shirt, pulling him closer.
Who else would want you?Cain's voice whispers.
This man, I answer silently.This man wants me.
Leviathan pulls back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine. "We shouldn't?—"
"I know."
"You've been through hell. You're not thinking clearly?—"
"I'm thinking more clearly than I have in years."
"Ripley—"
"Ineedthis." My voice cracks on the words. "I need to feel something that isn't fear. I need to know that I'm still alive, that I still exist, that I'm more than what he made me. Please." I meet his eyes, letting him see everything—the desperation, the need, the fragile hope. "Please."
He stares at me for a long moment.
I watch him war with himself, watch the internal battle between what he thinks is right and what we both want.
Then he kisses me again.
This time there's no hesitation.
His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head back, and his mouth claims mine with an intensity that steals my breath.
I pull at his cut and shirt, needing to feel his skin, needing proof that this is real.
He breaks the kiss long enough to yank the cut down his arms and shirt over his head, and I get my first look at his body.
Muscled, scarred, a tattoo across his chest that I can't make out in the dim light.
He's beautiful in a brutal way, all hard edges and controlled power.
His hands find the hem of my borrowed t-shirt—one of Tawny's, too big for me—and he pauses, asking permission.
I nod, and he pulls it over my head.
I'm suddenly aware of my body.
The softness he's now seeing.
The curves Cain used to grab and mock.
I start to cover myself, shame flooding through me?—
