Page 72 of Their Will be Done

He turns me around and gently grasps my chin. “Kisses mean nothing.” There’s a strange hitch in his voice that belies the words. Because hedoeslike me, or because someone told him that a long time ago and he still believes it? “I like kissing girls.”

My eyes widen. “Oh,” I murmur, heat slowly crawling up my face.

Can I be more embarrassed? I thought Reuben genuinely liked me. But if it’s just something he gets a kick from…?

Fuck it—hedoeslike me.

I’ll prove it.

“Then kiss me,” I say. “Kiss me and tell me it doesn’t mean anything.”

He cocks his head a little to the side, as if intrigued by my suggestion. Then he ducks, scoops me into his arms, and presses me against the door. Just like last time, my legs wrap around him like I’ve done this a thousand times before.

Blasphemous little slut.

I’m suddenly too aware of how close my core is to his body. Pressed to his stomach just above his belt, I can only imagine what it would feel like if he was to lift my skirt so the rough fabric of his jeans could rub against me.

Damn it, Iama slut. Is this because Cass got me so hot and bothered earlier? Or is it because when I feel like this, I can’t think about other things? Horrible,confusingthings.

Maybe a little of both.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“That I want you to kiss me?” I frown at him. “Yes.”

“I mean, are you sure you want to test me?”

My frown deepens.

He shifts his grip, pressing me harder against the door. Even through my skirt, that friction is enough to send a host of urgent signals through my body.

Now every part of me is paying attention—from my lips to my nipples, to my center, to my fucking toes.

“You shouldn’t treat this like a game, Trinity.” Reuben’s black eyes harden with the same intense determination he’d worn the day we met. He traces the outline of one of my buttons and then starts popping them open.

“You’re supposed to be kissing me,” I whisper.

“I am,” he agrees calmly. “But you never said where.”

Good God, now I’m picturing him kissing my breasts, drawing my nipples into his mouth and teasing each tight bud with his teeth. I start trembling internally. When I grab onto his shoulders, he pauses in his methodical work, his fingers in line with my nipples.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly.

He lets out a soft, “Hmm,” as if he’s not one-hundred percent satisfied with my answer.

God, this is torture. I’m tempted to ask him to hurry the fuck up.

The last button pops open. He slides a hand behind my bodice and parts the two halves of my dress.

But not all the way. Just enough so that I can see the edge of my bra when I glance down.

Then he shifts his grip and holds onto me with one arm—one arm?—while he hunts around in his pocket for something. What is he looking for, a condom?

I know where to find some.

Did Gabriel sleep with my Dad? Well, he’d have to, probably, to consider it an affair.

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