“What would that be?”
“You tell me.” I stare at his lips and back to his eyes.
Charged silence crackles between us, and it’s thick and deafening. I should say that I’m kidding. Should laugh it off and let him off the hook. But I don’t. Lately I can’t seem to stop doing things I shouldn’t.
He doesn’t move save for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and that same unreadable look. I think he’s going to tell me to chill out, or worse, get the hell out. Then suddenly, his hand shoots out and grabs the leg of my chair. Mountain drags me toward him in one fluid motion, the legs scraping against the hardwood flooring.
My stomach jolts as a whimper slips out of me before I can stop it. His legs bracket mine now, the heat of him pressing into every edge of my composure. He doesn’t touch me, instead keeps one hand fisting the leg of the chair and the other curled against his right thigh.
Finally, he unballs that fist on his lap and lifts his hand painstakingly slowly. I track the movement, my eyes and head following its path. His fingers hover, a slight twitch evident now. My chin tucks against my collarbone, not intentionally but because I can’t seem to peel my sight away from his traveling hand.
Then he cups the back of my neck, his palm spreading wide along my nape. His skin is warm and rough from years of stick handling and gloves, but his touch—it’s unexpectedly gentle. Gentle but firm and dare I say possessive even. He kneads into the base of my skull, coaxing, no, more like subtly demanding me to look at him.
I force my stare back up, trembling under the intensity of his gaze. Mountain searches my face, studying every stutter in my breath, almost as if he’s checking for all the ways I might pull back.
My body leans into him with a mind of its own. Blood racing, pulse stuttering, and thighs clenching. My eyes drop to his lips where he licks them slowly. I can’t breathe, and honestly, I’m not even sure I remember how to. And when he finally looks down at my mouth, staring at it as if it’s the only thing in this godforsaken room, I nearly pass out.
He hasn’t even kissed me yet and I’m already about to lose my shit. Why is he having this effect on me? I mean I quite literally asked for this, but I guess I never expected him to do anything about it.
“You sure?” His voice is a growl when it comes out.
I nod.
And then his mouth crushes into mine. All of his gentleness, that composure of steel breaks. His kiss isn’t soft; it’s not even careful. It’s all heat and need, like he’s been starving for this all along. His other hand moves from the chair, joining the other around my neck as he pulls me into him, one thigh between mine anchoring me in place. His lips part mine, tongue licking deep and rough. He’s claiming me in the moment, finally giving himself permission to let go. I can feel it in the way his fingers bite into my neck like he’s trying to claw his way into my skin.
It stings but feels good at the same time. Too good that the sounds come out of me before either of us can make sense of the moment.
“Mmmm,” I moan, sharp and breathy.
Mountain groans, swallowing it like a challenge. I grip his shirt, my fingers twisting in the fabric as I hold on for dear life. With each stroke of his tongue against mine, he tugs me closer until I’m practically straddling his thigh. Every shift of his mouth is a contradiction. It’s chaotic and controlled. Practiced precision and desperation all in one. It’s as if he’s still trying to stay composed but also rip that control to shreds.
And it’s the hottest shit ever. To know that I’m the reason he’s teetering that edge sends shock waves through every nerve in my body. The need to touch him takes over and I cup his face.
“Fu—” he starts but it’s drowned out by his heavy breaths. “Mmm,” he mutters instead.
I stroke his cheek, needing to hear him moan again, wantingto finally break through that wall. Mountain moves his touch to the small of my back, his massive hand nearly covering it entirely. I’m not tiny by any means, but next to him, I’m dainty. He wraps his arms around me until we’re chest to chest, his strong arms caging me in. I’m planted firmly in his grasp, and it feels amazing, the kind of calming weight that soothes nervous systems.
Wanting to feel closer to him, I finger the hem of his T-shirt until I feel the warmth of his skin. It’s hot and taut, and ridged to perfection.
“S-Sam,” he whispers against my lips, shaking his head slowly, but not once does he pull away.
“Bryden,” I utter back.
The kiss deepens; then he sucks my tongue into his mouth.
“We should stop,” he breathes out.
“Mm-hmm,” I agree but don’t move and neither does he.
We stay like this. Lips swollen, breaths tangled, bodies pressed so close it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins.
A sharp throat clears, slicing through the room, snapping us out of our haze. We jolt, and stare at the door simultaneously.
“Look what we have here.” Alex leans against the doorjamb, arms crossed. Mouth curved into that frustrating smirk of his. He looks amused, but he also looks pissed.
Beside him, Kane stands stiff as stone, his eyes narrowed like two blades. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to; the glare in his eyes says it all.
Bryden doesn’t release me; instead he holds me tighter and I swear I hear him mutter the wordmine.
