Page 50 of Ricochet

And then he’s pressing his body into mine, our chests heaving against each other. He rolls his hips, grinding against me. I don’t even try to stop the moan that tears up my throat as I thrust back against him.

His hands leave the wall and lift the bottom of my shirt, splaying his palms against my abs. They feel cool against my burning skin.

I’m only vaguely aware that he’s touching my scars.

He’s already seen them.

I feel safe.

But then I realize his mouth is about two inches from mine. I lick my bottom lip, tasting the beer on his breath, and his eyes zero in on it.

“Don’t kiss me.”

A dark, bewildered scowl crosses his face. “Is that like you telling me to stop?”

“No. I mean it.”

“Goddamn it. You confuse the fuck out of me.”

I could say the same thing about him.

I literally watched him end a man’s life last night, yet he’s earnest in his refusal to force himself on me.

So, by Stone’s logic…

Murder good. Rape bad.

Fucking hell. I don’t know what it feels like to be in love, but if it’s anything like this, I’m fucked.

And that’s exactly why I can’t let him kiss me.

“Fine.” Stone’s nails lightly scratch along my stomach as he runs his hands down. “If I can’t taste your lips, then I’ll just have to taste every other inch of you.”

Fuck.

He grabs the hem of my shirt and rips it up and over my head, tossing it away onto the floor. His fingers comb through my hair before he grips it by the roots and gently tugs my head to the side. His teeth nip at my jaw. He licks up the column of my throat. All the while, he’s grinding against me, making me feel his cock that’s as hard as mine.

His mouth continues moving down. He doesn’t kiss me. Instead, his lips brush my skin, his teeth scrape along my collarbone, his tongue leaves hot, wet trails across my chest. As his mouth covers one of my nipples, his hand leaves my hair. He licks and sucks and bites while his fingers move to the top of my jeans.

The button’s undone, the zipper lowered.

My breaths come quick and harsh as I lean my head back against the door.

That voice in my head that made me tell him to stop last week isn’t there. Right now, there’s a different one screaming something else.

Touch me. Touch me. Touch me.

And then he does. He dips his hand into my boxers, and his fingers wrap around my dick.

I think I let out the loudest moan I ever have in my entire life.

“Fuck.” I can’t stop from thrusting into his hand. “Stone.”

His mouth leaves my nipple, his tongue darting out to lick it one last time. “You taste good so far. I can’t wait to taste more.”

I swear I’m going to end up coming just from his filthy words before he can finish whatever plans he has.

Once more, his mouth travels down, lips and tongue caressing my overheated skin. They brush over scars, but any distress I might feel about it is eclipsed by this ferocious hunger. Desire. Want.Need.

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