Page 22 of Catching His Runaway

Tommy takes my words as a challenge. Of course, he does. That’s one more thing that hasn’t changed about him. Helovesproving me wrong.

Before I can react, his hand finds my face. Just like when he found me in his bathroom, he cups my cheek with purpose. Unlike back then, he doesn’t get distracted and ruin the moment.

Right now, the only thing he’s focusing on is my lips and the way they part. His thumb traces my bottom lip, and he vibrates again when I show him my tongue by flicking it against the tip of his finger.

I can’t tell which one of us is playing who. Everything is happening in a blur, too quick to think any of this out.

Before I can shy away, his mouth crashes against mine. I can pretend I haven’t imagined this a hundred times, but I can’t lie, I used to fantasize such gentle kisses from him.

It’s not sweet. It’s not gentle when he swoops in.

I bite back a gasp as his teeth scrape my bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. His breath is hot, his chest heaving against mine, and when I dare to meet his eyes, they’re dark, furious.

He buries his hand into my hair, wrapping the strands between his fingers as he finds the grip he needs to pull my head back. One little gasp from my lips is all he needs to seal our lips together before introducing me to his tongue.

His tongue. It’s as ruthless as the rest of him. Demanding, too. Stealing my breath, he doesn’t waste a second exploring every inch I have to offer. Focusing on his tongue flicks as it flicks against mine, deliberate testing—then curls around it in a way that sends heat straight between my thighs. A rough sound escapes him, more growl than moan, and the vibration of it against my lips is obscene.

A sound so raw, it’s impossible to fake.

Like he’s not expecting it either, he yanks back, putting hardly more than three inches between us.

We’re both breathing heavier, trying to keep straight faces. I’m failing, my cheeks burning hot, as he can’t decide where he wants to look. My mouth is the most dangerous spot, but he’s never been a coward.

It’s what causes our downfall.

He kisses me again, harder, deeper, his tongue sweeping against mine in a way that makes my knees weak. The fence bites into my back, the pain sharp and sweet, but I don’t pull away.

Not knowing what to do with my hands, they’re completely useless. I can’t touch him, not without making it seem like I want this. Idon’t. I can’t.This is Tommy, after all. I’m not allowed to want anything from him.

Every moan that rises in my throat is his—consumed, devoured, stolen before it fully forms. His grip tightens, holding me in place like he fears I’ll vanish if he loosens his hold for even a second.

Claiming every inch of my mouth like he’s starving for the taste of me, he invades like he owns what he touches. For a few brief seconds, he hasmebelieving the very same.

Every flick, every thrust of his tongue is filthy, deliberate, wringing another broken sound from my throat. He doesn’t let me breathe, doesn’t let me think.

Hardly the type to consider myself strong, I cave and twist my fingers into his shirt, attempting to drag him closer to never put an end to this punishment of his. It can’t be anything else.

One more pull of my hair, one more nip at my lips, and that’s that.

Then he pulls back, breathing hard, his dark eyes burning into mine.

“See?”His voice is rough, but there’s a crack in it.“Nothing.”

Liar.

If I were younger, I would believe him, and my heart would break, aching forever. However, I’ve grown and gained more than enough experience in my life.

I’ve seen men want things from me. Not just my heart, but my body, too. The hunger behind their eyes is always easy to see.

The way Tommy is looking at me now, it’s not like a man who is disinterested. He’s not giving off the usual signs of hunger, either.

No, this is new.

This man is staring down at me like he’s outright starving. Like a caged animal finally free to hunt for their first meal in days.

Is this real, or is he trying to play his own version of mind games with me?

He’s just trying to get in my head. That’s all this is. Maybe he’s known about my crush, and he’s using it against me. Fuck, that has to be it. If I’m not careful, I’m going to be playing right into the palm of his hand.

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