Page 121 of Hellbent
“Shit. Lightning must’ve hit something out back. At least the power’s still on.”
He pulls his hand back, runs it over his face, then stands.
He crosses the room, and I think maybe that’s it. That we’ve said what we needed to say. That we’ll leave it here—tired and guilty, but still intact.
But then he turns, and the absolute rawness of his expression makes my breath catch.
Exhaustion. Pain.
“I’m trying,” he says. “To do the right thing. To be careful. To hold the line.”
My heartbeat thuds in my ears.
“But if you ask me to stay in this room with you tonight…” His voice drops. “I won’t pretend I don’t want you.”
My mouth is dry. My skin hot beneath the cotton of my shirt.
I should tell him to leave.
But I can’t.
“Please stay.”
It slips out before I even know I’ve spoken. Ryder looks at me like he’s seeing through my skin—and then he closes the distance between us.
He sits on the bed again. Closer this time.
His hand finds my jaw, fingertips brushing just under my ear.
“You sure?” he asks.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
That’s all it takes.
He leans in, and his mouth meets mine with a kind of aching gentleness that splits me open more than any roughness could.
It’s slow at first, careful, and I want to memorize every second of it. The way he tastes. The way he breathes.
His lips drag down to my neck. I feel him holding back, the tenderness, the muscles locked tight with restraint.
“Touch me,” I whisper.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
“I feel starved for you,” he growls. “I’m worried I’m not going to be gentle.”
“I don’t want gentle.”
His mouth crashes into mine and this time it’s not soft.
His hands move under my shirt, dragging it up, over, gone. He pushes me back onto the pillows and follows, weight braced on his elbows.
I arch into him, gasping when his teeth catch on the swell of my breast. He slides down my body, kissing my stomach, my hips, the inside of my thigh.
His hands hook beneath the waistband of my panties, dragging them down my legs. His eyes lock with mine as he pulls them off completely, tossing them to the floor. He kisses the sensitive skin on my inner thigh, his breath hot against my skin, making me shiver.
He spreads me with his hands and lowers his mouth to me. His tongue is slow at first—teasing, circling, tasting. But when I start to tremble, he grips my hips tighter, pressing deeper, his tongue flicking rapidly against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
