Page 81 of Red Zone
I grab her face, haul her to me, and kiss her like I’ve been wanting to all damn day.
Because I have.
There’s no slow build, no testing the waters. I crash into her mouth, and she meets me with the same fire—pulling me in by the front of my hoodie like she’s been craving it just as bad as I have.
It’s messy and hot and a little desperate. Her teeth scrape my bottom lip, and I groan, pushing her back onto the bed without breaking the kiss. She tastes like sugar and sarcasm.
Her hands are everywhere—clutching my hoodie, threading into my hair, dragging me closer like she can’t get enough, like she’s more than willing to give anything I’m willing to take.
Good. Because I’m fucking starving.
I settle between her legs; our bodies pressed together like we’re trying to make up for every second we pretended we didn’t want this.
She bites my lip.
I lose it.
I grab her thigh and hike it over my hip, grinding down into her like it’s instinct—because it is.
She arches beneath me with a sound that makes my brain short-circuit.
“Jesus, Red,” I breathe against her mouth. “What the hell are you doing to me?”
She smirks, breathless, her eyes wild. “Payback for every time you’ve smirked at me in that stupid backwards hat.”
I laugh, low and rough, then kiss her again—harder this time, hands sliding under her crop top, fingers brushing bare skin and pulling a gasp from her lips.
This isn’t just heat—it’s combustion.
All the tension we’ve danced around for weeks finally ripping free and demanding to be felt.
And I want all of it.
Every damn piece of her.
If I wasn’t in deep before…fuck me, I’m drowning now.
22
CARTER
Her body fits against mine like it is meant to be here—hip to hip, mouth to mouth, her legs wrapping tighter around me as the kiss turns frantic.
She rolls her hips once—slow, intentional—and fuck.
I feel it everywhere.
A groan rips out of my throat before I can catch it. My hands grip her thighs, pinning her beneath me, grinding down without thinking.
She gasps into my mouth, then does it again. Harder.
That’s it. That’s the moment I lose whatever thin thread of self-control I had left.
I press into her, hips rolling against hers like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. There’s nothing between us but thin fabric and too many unsaid things, and even through the layers I can feel how ready she is. How hot and wet she is.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her head tipping back as she moans my name—soft but wrecked.
“Carter…”
