And it’s not gentle or sweet. It’s all teeth and frustration and a desperate need to feel in control ofsomething. It’s a vibrating instinct to feel all the things his kiss made me feel in the back seat of the car. It’s an overwhelming need to crawl inside his body and become one with him.
His body goes rigid under my hands, and for one terrible second, he doesn’t respond.
But then, he does.
He kisses me back. His hands come up to my waist, and his grip tightens on my hips like he’s barely holding himself together. There’s a heat in him that feels almost electric, like his body is shaking under the strain of restraint.
It makes me want more. Makes me wanthimmore.
I press closer, my heart racing and my breath shallow, and I chase whatever this pull is that won’t leave me alone. Recklessly, I ignore all the red flags and things that should most definitely be freaking me out, and I chase whatever is causing this blooming, undeniable, overwhelming need for him.
His mouth moves against mine, hungry and controlled at the same time, like he’s fighting himself with every breath.
In this moment, I want to give him everything—my mouth, my tongue, my body, my heart, fucking everything that is mine.
But then he breaks the kiss and steps back as if he’s been burned.
“Stop,” he says, voice rough. “We can’t.”
The rejection hits harder than a slap to the face.
I stare at him, my chest heaving up and down in erratic waves. “You don’t get to decide that either.”
“Yes, I do,” he snaps, anger flaring now. “When it comes to you, my willpower is already hanging by a fucking thread, Kylie. Youhave no idea what you’re asking for when it comes to a man like me. When it comes to what is pulsing between us.”
The implication hangs between us, heavy and frightening and intoxicating all at once.
It’s all too much.
My eyes burn with emotion, tears threatening to flow down my cheeks at any moment.
But the most shocking part is that all I want right now is to launch myself at him again and give him every part of myself.
Never in my life have I ever felt like this about anyone.
And that’s beyond terrifying. It makes me feel like I’m the girl in the horror flick who runs up the stairs when the psycho with the mask arrives at the front door.
Immediately, I turn and head for the bathroom, yanking the door open and slamming it shut behind me. I twist the lock hard enough to make it rattle.
“Kylie,” Rook calls out, and tears start streaming down my cheeks.
“Leave me alone,” I call through the door. “I need a minute without you deciding things for me.”
The shower is on before he can say anything else. I remove my clothes, quietly sobbing the entire time, and step beneath the steaming spray.
Hot water pelts my skin, and I brace my hands against the tile, shoulders shaking as everything I’ve been holding back finally spills over.
Fear. Anger. Confusion.
And underneath it all is something worse—want.
I want him.I more than want him.It’s as if I can feel my want and need for him pulsing in my veins. It feels as if each pounding beat of my heart is for his ears and only his ears. It’s as if my mind and body are at war. It’s as if I’m fighting every sane instinct inside myself not to run out of this shower and beg him to make love to me.
It’s as if…deep down, I’m willing to do anything to be his.
And that is the most petrifying realization I’ve ever had.
I slide down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, water streaming over me, and press my palm to my mouth to muffle the sound while I cry.
