I didn’t realize that was only the first wave until his lips slowly teased mine apart and his tongue slipped inside my mouth.
A noise of satisfaction drifted from the back of my throat, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen his kiss. His tongue was lush and oh-so-soft as it slid across mine, making a muscle between my legs clench against the ache he caused. His lips controlled. They dominated and took, and I gave in willingly.
I struggled for air while enduring his greedy kiss, which grew more overwhelming with each second. The temperature around us skyrocketed, threatening to incinerate me. Even in my hottest dreams, those kisses weren’t half as good as the one he was delivering now. How was I going to come out the other side of it and not be singed?
The desire between us swirled like water circling a drain, pulling me deeper and faster into him with each pass. It was terrifying and fucking thrilling. He wasn’t impervious either. His breath had gone ragged, and his other hand slipped behind me, his palm pressed against my back.
My fingers, which had longed to touch, finally got their wish, and I cupped his jaw, my fingertips sanding over his skin along his cheekbones—
Abruptly, Macalister’s hand came off the nape of my neck and wrapped around my wrist like a shackle, pulling my touch away from his face before I’d had my fill. Whatever restraint he’d had on himself seemed to break down and dissolve. His mouth turned wild and aggressive as he forced me down onto my back, pinning my wrist to the couch cushion beside my head.
He’d moved us so quickly, it wasn’t until I felt the pressure of his knee between my legs that I realized he was on top of me, one leg sandwiched between my thighs. White-hot pleasure burst through me, causing goosebumps to dot my skin, despite the growing heat in the room and the way we were both sweating.
It was awkward on the little couch, and he was huge, but he made it work.
And there was something about the way his strong hand held me down that was dangerous. Powerfully seductive and erotic. His thumb pressed against my palm and dug in, and although I still had one hand free, I felt dominated. Locked in beneath him, completely at his mercy.
It was exactly where I wanted to be.
He subtly moved his knee again, rubbing against me and bringing on a new wave of pleasure. His mouth was incessant, alternating between slow and languid kisses to passionate and demanding ones. Thoughts swirled in my mind until they were a bleary mess. All that mattered was that Macalister was now kissing me and that he continued to kiss me forever.
I moaned my satisfaction, and the hand wrapped around my wrist tightened, his thumb pressing into the center of my palm so hard, it bordered on uncomfortable. But I loved it. I set my free hand flat against his chest and enjoyed the hurried beat pounding inside. More proof he was human after all.
But while I was pliant and warm beneath him, the muscles in his frame grew rigid and cold. Something had happened. Maybe he didn’t like how I’d discovered a heart lived inside him. When his mouth slowed and began to retreat from mine, I wanted to whine in protest.
The connection of our kiss wasn’t just broken, it was severed. He turned and stared at my delicate wrist in his hold, gazing at it with pure confusion, like he hadn’t realized he was pinning me down until that very moment.
It made my heart stumble. Had I done that? Made him lose some of the careful control he always placed on himself?
I was flushed and throbbing painfully at the center of my legs as he pulled away and moved to sit as far away from me at the other end of the couch as possible. He stared off, his unfocused eyes seeing nothing and his chest rising and falling rapidly, and he looked . . . drained. As if kissing me had taken everything out of him.
I awkwardly pulled myself up and back to a sitting position. Christ, my legs were shaking. With the heat of him gone, I was instantly freezing and crossed my arms over my chest. This house was a museum with overly enthusiastic air conditioning.
Was he going to say something?
Was I supposed to?
Macalister’s posture improved until his back was straight, and he ran a hand over his hair, smoothing the wayward strands back into their perfect place. By the time he turned his head to look at me, his professional veneer was back in place.
Like our kiss hadn’t affected him at all.
“That was,” I said between still-uneven breaths, “a bit much. I don’t recommend you do that tomorrow.”