Page 52 of Psycho Pack

I crush my mouth to his again, swallowing whatever else he was going to say. His tongue meets mine, and fuck, the way he kisses... It's like he's dissecting me from the inside out.

Learning all my secrets.

All my weaknesses.

I hate it.

Ineedit.

My free hand slides under his remaining shirt, mapping the lean muscle beneath. He's all sharp angles and precise strength.

Nothing soft about him.

Nothing gentle.

Perfect.

"Tell me to stop," I growl against his lips.

Give him an out.

Give myself an out.

"No." The word is barely a whisper.

"Tell me you're just fucking with me."

His eyes lock onto mine in the darkness. "I'm not."

Something in my chest cracks open at those two simple words. At the raw honesty in his voice. At the way his clinical mask finally slips, revealing something darker. Hungrier.

"Fuck," I breathe, resting my forehead against his.

My grip on his wrists loosens, but he doesn't pull away.

"Indeed," he murmurs, and I can hear the ghost of a smile in his voice.

"I hate you so fucking much."

"I know." His lips brush mine, feather-light. "Now are you going to keep talking, or are you going to let me shut you up with my cock?"

The words send lightning down my spine. My hands release his wrists to grip his hips instead. "Here?"

"Why not?" His fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me closer. "The others are asleep. I'm in a bad mood and could use the distraction. And I've always wanted to study the effects of cold stone against bare skin during?—"

I silence him with another bruising kiss.

Bastard can't help himself.

Always has to make everything into a goddamn scientific inquiry.

But as his clever hands work their way down my body, I find I don't really give a shit.

Not anymore.

His teeth catch my bottom lip as I try to pull back, sending a jolt straight to my cock. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, but I don't care. My hands grip his hips harder, probably leaving bruises.

Good.

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