Page 78 of Touch of Hate
A shudder escapes him, his breath coming out shaky. That’s nothing compared to what’s happening inside me—the flood of emotion, the longing and hunger, the sense of hanging breathlessly at the edge of a precipice.
I wonder what will happen once I fall over. What’s waiting for me?
“You’ll always be mine after that. Once I claim you, there’s no going back. No escaping me.” He skims my knuckles with his lips, sending tiny goose bumps of pleasure up my arm, the sensation going straight to my core.
It’s almost too much. I can’t stand the intensity of the sensations he stirs up without trying. I need him so badly. More than air, more than water, or food. It never ends, this need, this hunger.
“I don’t want to escape you, ever.” Then I think twice about it as I lean in, resting my cheek against his back. “No. There will never be any decision. It would be like deciding to breathe.”
My breath catches when he turns and takes my face in his huge rough hands. Every time he holds me like this, I imagine him holding the most fragile piece of glass. “Still? You still want me, even after everything that’s happened? After what I told you I wanted to do? After the things that happened with your brother and knowing I’m the enemy.”
All I hear is him making up reasons we shouldn’t do this or why we can’t. I don’t actually hear him coming up with a reason as to why he wouldn’t want to. Everything else is an outside force pushing against us. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I care about is him.
“Yes.” I lean into his touch, my eyes closing so I can focus on the miracle of his hands on me. Holding me gently, tenderly. “Always.”
He touches his forehead to mine, breathing heavily, his hands drifting down to my waist.
“Look at me,” he whispers, so I lift my head, my eyes finding his. They’re glowing, warm, and full of love.
I could cry—I think I might, too, the pressure in my chest and behind my eyes hinting at the wave of emotion threatening to crash down.
Anticipation bubbles up inside me. I know it’s going to hurt. I’ve read enough romance novels and watched enough movies. I just hope Ren can make it good for me.
The temptation builds, and the longer he stares at me, the faster my heart beats. In an instant, the tension snaps, and his mouth presses against mine, shoving all our worries to the wayside.
His kiss is like setting a match to a pile of dry kindling, the power of it is enough to make me shudder, and I snake my arms around his neck, pulling him down, demanding more. My body’s running away from me, but I don’t care. There’s no room for conscious thought when I need him the way I do.
His arms close around my waist, and he lifts me off my feet, pulling me tighter to him, walking me across the room and into the bedroom. My nipples become tight peaks, my arousal splintering through me.
All the while, he kisses me—hard, deep, almost angrily. I meet his energy, our teeth clash, our tongues tangle, and my lips sting from the pressure as I give myself what I need for as long as he’ll give it to me.
His hands roam my body the moment I’m back on my feet, moving up and down my back before dipping under my sweatshirt and pulling it up. Our mouths part only long enough to pull the shirt over my head and for me to do the same to his T-shirt. Then he’s back on me, his arms close around me again, crushing my body to him the way he crushes his mouth to mine, and it’s all I can do to keep from weeping in relief.
He wants me. He still wants me.
“Scarlet… my angel…” he murmurs like it’s a prayer, his voice deep. He punctuates the words by peppering kisses along my jaw, chin, and down my throat. His kisses leave a fiery path on my skin, and I’m burning up for him. Every nerve ending is on fire.
I tip my head back, offering him my throat, and all of me. I know I won’t regret it. I’m greedy for him. After all this time, I’m finally getting the relief I need.
“You taste so fucking delicious… like honey and nectar.” The growl in his throat makes every hair on my body stand on end.
His fingers trail against my smooth skin as he lowers me to the bed. My knees buckle as he’s doing so, the need making my vision hazy. I peer up at him through hooded eyes.
He seems to know exactly what I need and how I need it. He always has—on my birthday, at the party, now. It’s him.
His own gaze is a feral mixture of desperation and need.
Body trembling, he pushes his own needs aside. I can see the physical strength and effort it takes for him to go slow, and I’m thankful. His shoulders and biceps flex as I run my hands over them. Though he seems tired, his body is still lean and muscled. The body of an athlete.
He leans forward and takes one of my stiff peaks between his lips. He tugs, his tongue circling the nipple, and a silent gasp escapes my parted lips. The sensations aren’t foreign, but they spark an already roaring fire.
With his other hand, he gently massages my other breast, pinching the bud and rolling it between two fingers. He’s worshiping me, and all I can do is tangle my fingers in his hair and hold him to my chest, refusing to let go.
“Oh god, that feels so good.” I whimper, and my head rolls from side to side in the wake of the tension building in my core.
And though his labored breathing hints at his haste to bury himself deep inside me, he takes his time, teasing every last ounce of bliss from my already heated body by lapping at my nipples, building me up until I’m ready to crack, all while his ocean blue eyes penetrate mine from beneath dark lashes.
That’s the hottest part of all; when I look down to find him watching me. Our gazes meet, and something indescribable passes between us. Deeper and hotter than anything I’ve ever known. An unspoken understanding. He knows what he’s doing to me and loves every moment of the absolute submission and trust I’m putting in him. And not only because it feels incredible—dear god, does it ever—but because we’re together. At this moment, it’s the two of us. Nobody on the outside, no past, not even a future. Nothing but the present moment.