Page 173 of Damsel in Disguise

Even during the drive, every red light became an excuse.

The moment the car rolled to a stop, she’d lean across the console, and I’d meet her halfway, our mouths finding each other as naturally as breathing.

Then the light would change, forcing us apart just long enough for me to focus on the road again. Reluctantly.

At least I’ve enough sense left not to get us killed.

Especially Ariella.

My hands refuse to stay still. They wander over every inch of exposed skin I can reach—tracing, gripping, feeling.

The smooth warmth of her thighs keeps drawing me back, partly because they’re impossible to ignore and partly because I need one arm beneath her to keep her upright.

Not that she’s any better. Her hands are everywhere—over my shoulders, down my back, along my jaw, through my hair.

She keeps dragging her fingers through my hair, making an already disastrous mess of it, yet every pull sends another wave of heat through me.

We simply can’t seem to get enough of each other. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember where one touch ends and the next begins.

I wonder if she’s had alcohol too. At this point, I can’t tell anymore. She tastes exactly like I do.

“Do you happen to have any drink?”

The question catches not only her but also me completely off guard. I stare at her for a moment, trying to remember why I asked in the first place.

“I—I do,” she says breathlessly. “In the freezer.”

I remember I need more drugs in my bloodstream to continue this for as long as it requires.

The apartment feels oddly distant as I navigate through it in a haze, eventually finding the kitchen. I open the freezer and grab the first bottle my hand lands on, not bothering to check what it actually is.

Then I’m moving again. The master bedroom door flies open beneath the force of my foot.

There’s no need to turn on the lights. The matching lamps on either side of the queen-sized bed cast enough of a golden glow to paint the room in soft shadows.

I don’t register anything else—the furniture or the décor, nor the photographs. Nothing.

The only thing my mind manages to focus on is the bed.

I cross the room in long strides and crash onto the mattress with her beneath me, careful enough to catch my weight on my arms to not crush her.

The bed dips sharply under us.

Ariella lets out a surprised breath against my mouth.

Even though she’s already in my arms, it still doesn’t feel close enough.

Hot breaths and ragged pants soon fill the room as she works her fingers through the remaining buttons of my shirt.

Our lips break apart only long enough for her to rip the fabric from my body, tossing it somewhere behind us.

Hungry gaze drags over every inch of my skin, drinking me in with shameless greed as if she’s seeing me for the first time.

Those pupils have swallowed the hazel whole, leaving behind nothing but a dark, intoxicating abyss that threatens to pull me under.

Suddenly, without warning, she shoves me backward.

The mattress dips beneath my weight as she climbs over me, knees bracketing my hips.