Page 113 of Dirty Damage

“I told you. Nanna helped?—”

“No. Better question.” He tugs me closer, until I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze. “Why?”

I’m not sure I’m ready to answer that honestly, even to myself.

Especially not with him looking at me like that.

“Because…” I lick my lips, searching for an answer that won’t give too much away. “Because everyone deserves to taste home sometimes.”

Hunger flares in his eyes, but not just for food. His free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip. The touch sends electricity arcing through my body.

“You contacted my mother.” Not a question. “Asked for Nanna’s number. Spent hours learning to make these perfectly.”

Each statement brings him closer, until I’m trapped between his body and the counter. The heat rolling off him makes my head swim.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I try to deflect, but my voice comes out breathy, wanting. “Your mother actually texted me first, about my apparently tragic fashion sense?—”

“Sutton.” My name is a growl that vibrates through his chest where it’s pressed against mine. “Stop talking.”

His mouth descends on mine, hungry and demanding. I taste longing on his tongue, need in the way his teeth scrape my bottom lip.

My hands fist in his shirt as he lifts me onto the counter, spreading my thighs to make room for his hips.

“Is this what you wanted?” His lips drag across my throat as his hands push under my shirt, leaving heat traces skittering across my skin.

Instead of answering, I arch into his touch.

We both know I won’t say it. Not tonight. Not when I can feel him hard against me, when his kisses feel like want and something dangerously close to tenderness.

His hands brand my skin as he peels away my clothes, methodical despite the tremor I can feel in his fingers.

Each newly exposed inch of flesh gets claimed by his mouth, marked by teeth and tongue until I’m writhing on the counter.

“Look at you,” he growls against my inner thigh. “All flushed and pretty, spread out on my kitchen counter like a feast.”

The words sear, burning me right along with all of our careful boundaries and practiced distance.

Tonight, it’s all going up in flames.

He holds my hips down with his huge hands as he devours me, each stroke of his tongue deliberate and devastating.

I’m close to shattering when he pulls back, leaving me gasping. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I watch him strip off his shirt, revealing the map of scars that spreads across his right side.

Usually, he keeps the lights low, angles himself to hide them.

But tonight, he stands bare in the bright kitchen light, letting me see everything.

It feels an awful lot like trust.

I reach out carefully, pressing my hand to the scarred skin over his heart. Under my palm, it beats wild and strong.

“What are you thinking, princess?”

The name has a softer edge this time. Before he can take it back or brush it off, I lean forward and press my lips to the largest scar, just below his collarbone.

His whole body goes rigid.

“Sutton…”

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