Page 36 of Twisted Thorns

"We should talk."

"Talk?"

"Yes," Kieran drawls. "Talk." He runs a hand through his hair, disheveling it in the best way possible, and I try hard to not bite my lip. Kieran places his hands on the nearby kitchen counter, his face suddenly serious. "From our conversations before, I was the only one you had this conversation with, but it may have changed."

I move to slide onto the barstool across the counter from him, waiting for him to continue.

"With sex, I like to be in control." He pauses and examines my face at this, looking for any sign that I'm about to run. I'm not. While he's right that I don't recall having this conversation with anyone else, much less him, most of my romance books on my e-reader have elements of BDSM, so I'm not completely ignorant.

I am, however, shocked that we're having this conversation and again have to remind myself that Kieran remembers our relationship, and that I'm the one who this is all new for. Well, new again.

Knowing we've been here before gives me a confidence I didn't know I had, so I ask, "What else do you like?"

Kieran's eyes darken at that, the brown deepening to the color of the forest at night.

Leaning forward, he pulls the invisible string between us tight as he answers. "Telling you when to come and making you do it over and over again until tears are streaming down your face as you scream my name in ecstasy. And then you kneeling at my feet, begging for more."

All the air escapes my lungs and heat travels directly to my center. It takes me a few tries before I can voice my next thought. "And what did I like?"

A smirk straight from the devil plays upon his lips and I realize I've shown my hand with my question. I don't think I have it in me to care if he knows what effect his words have on me.

"My hands wrapped around that pretty throat as your pussy wept for my cock."

I'm practically gasping for air now. "And did I have a safe word?"

Surprise flashes across Kieran's face. "You remember that?"

"No, but I've read about it."

"It was daffodil."

"Kieran," I breathe, the name rising from some place deep inside me.

And then Kieran moves faster than I can track, and his mouth descends on mine in a searing kiss that steals my breath away, binding me to him in a way that is impossible to escape. Not that I want to.

My lips part with a soft gasp and Kieran takes advantage, his tongue sweeping forward to meet mine, leaving the taste of whiskey behind. I feel dizzy with desire, clinging to him as my knees threaten to cave under the weight of my passion.

Kieran wraps his arms around me, pulling me flush against him. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and I slide my hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, deepening the kiss.

A low groan rumbles in Kieran's chest, vibrating against my lips and sending a jolt straight to my core. I want more—to drive him to the edge of control and beyond. To ignite the barely restrained passion I sense within him. Kieran is always so restrained and calculated. I want him undone.

Kieran's hands trail down to my hips before lifting me up. I arch into him with a soft moan, wrapping my legs around his body as he carries me to the couch in the living room, sitting me astride his lap.

Kieran moves from my lips to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw and down the sensitive skin of my neck. I tip my head back with a sigh, desire pooling low in my belly.

"Tell me to stop," Kieran rasps against my collarbone. His hands slide under the neckline of my dress, calloused fingers igniting sparks along my skin. "Tell me you don't want this."

"I will never tell you that," I reply breathlessly, "but we're going to be late for dinner." I tangle my fingers in his hair and guide his mouth back to mine, kissing him with a hunger that matches his own.

"I've got all the dinner I need right here," Kieran growls low in his throat, the sound shuddering through me. His hands slide down to cup my breasts, teasing my nipples into tight peaks that strain against the violet fabric.

Heat floods my veins as I arch into his touch with a soft cry. Tugging at his sweater, Kieran breaks our kiss to yank it over his head and tosses it behind him. I'm desperate to feel his bare skin against mine and fumble with the buttons of his shirt, fingers clumsy with anticipation.

As I push the shirt from his shoulders, my fingers brush against the ridged scars that mar his chest and abdomen, but that isn't what catches my eye.

My gaze snags on a tattoo on Kieran's broad chest. It is an exact match to the necklace I wear, the curved lines intertwining just about his heart. My hand automatically lifts, tracing the edges of the ink.

I understood in this moment that no matter what I couldn't remember of this man, of our time together, I was etched in his soul, more permanent than any scar.

---