“Did I say you needed a defense? Or accuse you of anything?”
“If I recall, your first words to me were, ‘What’re you doing here?’” I point out. “Sounds pretty accusatory to me.”
He crosses his arms and the black leather jacket and grey hoodie underneath pull tight over his wide shoulders and arms.
Stop looking at me like that. I swallow the demand but it sounds too desperate, too…revealing, even in my own head.
“No, it was ‘what’re you doing here?’ as in ‘are you okay?’ because you’re sitting alone in the middle of a forest. But,” his chin tucks in toward his neck and once more that too-incisive perusal holds me in place as surely as a hand to the back of the neck, “it seems like you’re spoiling for a fight. Is that what this is, Lennon?” He cocks his head, a gleam entering his gaze. “You want to get down and dirty, work out some of that anger and other shit that has you climbing hills and hiding out from the world?” He smiles, andholyshit. It’s not nice. It’s an invitation, pure and simple. Well, not pure. It’s filthy and sinful. “Well, come on then. I’ll let you dig your claws into me, kitten. I’ll be your personal little scratching post.”
And then he adds a crook of his fingers.
My breath turns to smoke.
Not surprising since liquid fire replaces the blood in my body.
My heart slows, and in between beats, I’m hyperaware of every sensation, in tune with every sense. The sharp yet sweet scent of pine and fresh air with a note of rain. My own thunderous pulse in my ears and the echo of the air pushing in and out of my lungs. The sizzle and heat of desire snapping and lurching beneath my skin, softening my sex even as it’s tightening my skin, my nipples, my belly. The tangy, biting flavor of excitement and fear on my tongue.
The startling blue of eyes that rival the Sound. The tangle of long, dirty blond hair carelessly pulled back into a bun with strands caressing his cheekbones, as if they, too, can’t stand not touching him for long periods of time.
And God, my fingers tingle with the need, the primalneedto just touch him.
I didn’t come up here for this.
On the contrary, I sought this place of comfort to avoid the emotional mess in my life. Things have become so…complicated. And he’s part of those complications. Him and the snarled, complicated chaos he triggers within me.
King’s lying to me.
I know that as clearly as my own name.
And if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s a liar.
Yet, standing here, with his challenge thrown down at my feet like a gauntlet, I don’t care.
I don’t care about anything but releasing all the rage, the confusion, the bitterness, the fucking hurt. And releasing it all on him.
He deserves it.
He should own it.
And he’s safe enough for you to let loose on without harm.
Oh shut the hell up.
Yes, I’m arguing with myself, but honestly, there’s no place for sentimentality here. Just unadulterated lust and animal instinct.
I stalk forward, shutting down reason and allowing desire to rule me. Here’s where I should dig out my phone and dial Lena, but I don’t want caution and logic.
No, I need to get lost in the madness, in the noise.
I need to get lost in King.
Not stopping until the tips of my boots bump his, I tilt my head back. He doesn’t move, only watches me with hooded eyes. His beautiful, hard mouth carries a hint of a smirk, and I resent it even as my mouth waters with the desire to sink my teeth into the curve of it.
Slowly, I sink to my knees.
Shock flashes in his gaze, briefly widening it. Then lust darkens his eyes to cobalt and his skin tautens, throwing his chiseled facial features into sharper relief. Except his mouth. Those full, carnal lips appear more lush, more hedonistic. If the devil bears this face, no wonder the world brims with so many sinners.
“If you’re waiting for me to say you don’t have to or something like that bullshit, let me give you a heads up. It’s not coming.” He threads his fingers through my hair, gently at first, then firmer, scraping his blunt nails over my scalp. He twists his hands in my curls, tugging until tiny pinpricks scatter, making their presence known. My lashes flutter at the pleasure/pain sensation, reveling in it. “I want your mouth on my dick too much to ever be that much of a hypocrite. And I figure since you got on your knees, who am I to take your choice away?”