Page 29 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He glances at my mouth again. “Want some food?”

“Don’t you?”

“I…” He goes quiet.

I swallow hard. “I won’t say no.”

“To food?”

“To whatever.”

He hesitates. “I don’t feel like myself right now.”

“Yeah, I get that,” I tell him.

“I’m so fucking unhappy,” he says, showing his cards on how drunk he is, too.

I put my cold hand on his neck and lean my forehead against his. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

He stiffens slightly and then shudders before his mouth meets mine.

Fuck.

On the one hand it was sort of inevitable, and this was what I was going for—on the other hand, I’m shocked he was the first to make a move, and I’m determined to make it good.

My fingers tighten, nails digging into his skin, and I open my mouth before he can pull away.

His tongue meets mine in a brief caress, and I groan, deep in my throat, angling my mouth to seal it to his.I want this.

His slow, careful kiss has blood surging to my relatively numb cock, but my lips are tingling, relishing the wet slide of his tongue as it licks and explores mine.

Neither of us says a word. We lean against the back of the couch and continue kissing.

It takes a few minutes to find the right angle, the proper depth and rhythm, decide where to put our hands, but when we do, it’s because he’s got a fist in my hair holding my head in place to fuck my mouth with his tongue while I lie there and let him have his way with me. It feels so fucking good.

He’s all power and control, slick sweeps and teeth tugging lips. He’s bruising me. It’s a kiss that hurts—that’s hard and unforgiving. It’s no longer careful, nor is it playful or romantic. It’s sex and dominance. It’s got me gasping and whimpering.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs before coming in for more punishing strokes.

I finally move. My fingers twist themselves in his jacket lapels,using them to keep him close. It allows me to hold my head in one position for him to make a target of.

I’m incredibly turned on, but too drunk to get completely hard. I’m more than content to let him continue to abuse my mouth, but then he pulls away to look at me, and some of the haze clears from my eyes.

He looks wrecked—unlike I’ve ever seen him. Pupils blown, lips shiny and red, a pinch in his brow beneath his disheveled hair. “What are you doing?” he asks.

I frown. “Me?”

“Why won’t you kiss me back?”

“I can’t,” I say without thinking about it.

“You don’t want to?”

“No, you’re…”

“Don’t say married,” he says quickly.

“I was gonna say overpowering me.”

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