Page 101 of What Happened on Roslyn Street?
“You don’t have to go,” he says, pulling me toward him. A breathy chuckle falls from his lips.
He pulls me against his chest, and all I can do is gape at him.
Heat radiates between our bodies, with only the thin fabric of my tank top keeping our chests from touching. My lips part.
I’m supposed to say something, but I can’t. My words get lost in the depths of his eyes. His expression melts as the seconds tick by, and before I can process it, he’s leaning in.
“I shouldn’t stay,” I whisper again, my eyelids fluttering.
“Why not?” He loosens the grip on my wrist, setting me free. He’s close enough that we share breath.
I can move, but I don’t, my chest flush against his.
If there was an excuse, I lose it. My restraint is gone. My thoughts, my morals, my fears—it’s all gone.
I’m the one to bridge the space, pressing my lips to his with fervent need. Drinking him up may be the only thing to keep my mind from wandering to the horrors and?—
He devours me, too, needing me in the same way.
With a hand on my back, he guides me into the room without breaking the kiss. The door shuts behind us, and we don’t part, not even for breath, inhaling ragged air between each soft touch of our lips.
“Your clothes,” he says mindlessly as if remembering how close to naked he is.
I couldn’t forget. He doesn’t hide himself from me, his hips slotted against mine, allowing me to feel his hardened length pressing against my thigh.
His fingers are graceful and gentle, breaking the kiss long enough to pull my tank top over my head.
My hand moves to graze over his bulge. He holds my wrist once more, his fingers tight this time. The reminder of his strength makes me pulse between my thighs.
“Do you not remember what I said last time?” he asks.
“Um… no…” My thoughts are far too slow, the words coming out languid, perplexed.
“I said, I’ll give it to you once you beg. Not before then.”
Understanding flashes across my features, and I flush, red splattering on my cheeks.
“God…” I whisper.
There’s already heat between my legs.
“I am a man of my word,” he says, fingers tangling in my hair. He pushes me against the door, his hips keeping me in place. “Don’t worry, love. I’ll draw it out of you. I have ways to make you plead for me.”
I can’t imagine what he means—until he’s dropping to his knees, pulling down my sleep shortsin a single swoop.
He looks up at me from his spot on the floor. Electricity runs through my body as his eyes wander over me.
“You have always wanted to devour me, haven’t you?” I smile at the words and the double meaning behind them.
He takes my leg, hitching it over his shoulder.
“I have.” His head turns to press soft kisses against my thigh. “I didn’t get a chance to last time.”
“I could tell you wanted to,” I say. My nervous habit of speaking too much comes into play, and I desperately wish it would stop, but it won’t. The words fall from me without meaning to, anticipation clenching in the pit of my stomach.
“Even before last time,” I say. “The minute you looked at me, I thought?—"
He bites my thigh, and I moan. My back presses against the cool wooden door, leaning onto it for support.
