Bang.
Our lips collided, and I clawed at his chest. He groaned as his arms pulled me close, then sucked in a desperate breath as we smashed our mouths together and as I slapped my hand against the rough stubble of his face. I bit down on his bottom lip, desperate for him to feel that I was there, and Rip grabbed my hips with a hard, full squeeze.
“Fuck,” he gasped as he pulled his mouth away.
I stumbled backward. My cock was raging hard, and my lips felt puffy and raw from the scrape of his beard. “Oh my god,” I whispered, dizzy and confused. “That’s not why I came here.”
Rip stared at me, not saying a word.
I had felt his body. I had tasted his sweat. And standing in front of him, all I wanted was more.
“I have to go,” I managed to say, then rushed out the door, past the tattooed men and back toward a place I belonged.
Running from the truth, and from whatever world I had just created.
