Page 40 of A Promise of Peridot
“Maybe so.” I wasn’t sure what I was asking for, but still I said, “Please, Kane.”
“Fuck,” he groaned, finally,blessedly, releasing my fist to run his hands up my sides—thosehands, like they were made for my body—and scoop me into a bruising kiss.
All I could make sense of were our tongues, and our mingled, hissing breath, and my hair, twisted in those massive hands of his, and him, as he cradled my head, coaxing rushed breaths and whimpers from me—
I knew I had missed the curve of his lips against my own, knew I had been craving him like a habit I couldn’t kick, but had never expected—neverknown—it would be like this. Like breathing again after weeks and weeks andweekswithout air.
Kane backed me against the sandstone wall beneath a covered balcony—long dress tangling underfoot as he maneuvered me bythe rib cage to exactly where he pleased—and palmed my ass and hips hungrily, lifting me against him. Kissing roughly as if at any moment, I was going to change my mind. The shameful truth was that I could do nothing of the sort—I was already damp for him between my legs, and each soft groan that rumbled from his broad chest made me wetter, that pulse in my core more demanding.
He deepened our kiss—a raw, searching, messy thing—taking his time, slowing to be more thorough, and when his thumb lazily circled my pointed nipple through the sheer fabric, I groaned into his mouth.
He hissed in pleasure, aligning our bodies so his cock pushed harder against me.
I writhed along him, clawed at him, nails scratching at his neck so hard I thought I might draw blood. The image only ignited me further. Under the vines above us, cloaked in night, I swirled my tongue along his, swallowing his grunts and sighs, feeling his hands work their way lower, lower,lower—
“Can I?” he ground out against my lips, when his thumb grazed between my thighs.
Yes, yes, yes.
Sparks and flames were rushing through me, lighting me from the inside out.
Wild, reckless, stupid, butalive—
I nodded my head vehemently, my lips wet against his. He was breathless as he groaned my name. Like he was suffering interminable torture.
I fished for his leather laces. I felt no shame—he wanted me. And that single truth thrummed through my entire body like liquid lightning.
His lips found the base of my throat—licking, lapping, teeth and breath—as he rubbed me, making me mewl. I whimpered again as he sucked my collarbone, palmed my breast, holding my body like it was precious—
Delicate—
Something worth worshipping.
The kiss was turning. Becoming emotional. Intimate. He was cradling my face with such reverence, fusing his body into mine with care and effort. Giving me such space, such freedom with his body... Poignant, personal, so much so that I could almost hear his heart—
“Stop,” I rasped. “Let me go.”
He shuddered, but lowered me to the ground instantly, pants still half-unlaced. His breathing was as heavy as my own.
I stared at him, unable to form words around the piercing ache in my chest.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he managed. “I can’tbreathewhen you look at me like that.”
All the boldness in those eyes—all that lust—gone. The moon was a bath of light across his charcoal hair, his knotted brow, his heaving chest.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, voice too low.
Angry tears burned behind my eyes. I swallowed against them. My lips stung.
I felt like screaming.
He shook his head, gazing toward the harbor, where the moonlight was fading, making way for a prying sun.
“I don’t know...” I shuddered in a ragged inhale. “You broke—you broke my heart.”
He flinched at my words. The look of shock on his face wouldhave been priceless an hour ago. I would have reveled in the triumph of surprising him, of eliciting such a reaction from him.
But not now.
