Page 29 of His to Burn
But for once, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
I was trembling, hollowed out, every breath rough and ragged.
Jackson tangled his fingers in my braids and rested his hand at the nape of my neck, the touch shockingly intimate.
But not nearly as intimate as the way he looked into my eyes, studying me, seeming to peer into my soul.
I blinked and used the motion to break his gaze without losing face.
I saw his slight frown, but I didn’t look up.
Then, he fisted my hair so tightly, I gasped.
The sharp pain was grounding and pulled me from the brink.
Then he tilted my head back, forcing me to look in his eyes again.
That was when I saw it.
Not just desire.
Not just anger.
Something darker.
Something that looked like possession.
He traced my bottom lip with his rough, calloused thumb as he studied me. “You’re still scared.”
“Yes,” I whispered, hating how fragile I sounded.
A cruel smile twisted his lips. “Good.”
Then he crushed his mouth to mine.
It was a savage, bruising kiss, more punishment than caress.
His tongue invaded my mouth, demanding I open for him, feasting on my fear.
The low thrum between my legs, something I tried to attribute to fear, became insistent,pulsing hot and dark, making it impossible for me to ignore how much I wanted this.
When he pulled back, I was breathless, dazed.
My pulse galloped under my skin, and I felt jittery, exposed.
But something, maybe pride, wouldn’t let me look away.
He whispered demand rumbled out of his throat. “Tell me you want this.”
“Jackson—”
He tightened his grip on my hair again, sending a delicious pain sparking across my scalp. “My name is Jack.” He pulled harder. “Say it.”
I swallowed.
But I didn’t lie. “I want this.”
He wasn’t satisfied. “Want what?”
