Page 67 of Beyond the Lines
“Asshole…” She laughs, still sobbing, both bitter and sweet at once.
Then grabs my shirt and yanks me back to her mouth once again. But this time when she kisses me, it’s slower and deeper, her tongue exploring with deliberate movements that make my knees weak.
My hands find their way under her sweater, palms flat against the warm skin of her back. She’s so soft, so perfect, and when I bring my hands around to the front of her and oh-so-gently brush the undersides of her breasts, she makes a sound that’s half-whimper, half-curse.
I break the kiss to look at her, needing to see her face. There’s still the residue of before—makeup streaked, the wet trail her tears left—but now, her pupils are blown wide, lips swollen and pink, and cheeks flushed with desire or anger or both. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
“What are you thinking?” she demands, breathless.
“That I want to draw you like this,” I admit. “Flushed and furious. It’s gorgeous.”
One of my hands moves higher, up inside her top, cupping her breast through her thin, lace bra. She’s small but perfect, fitting exactly in my palm. When I brush my thumb across her nipple, she moans into my mouth, the sound reverberating through me.
I want to feel her. I want to lose myself in her body until neither of us can remember why we’re supposed to hate each other. My hand slides down to the button of her jeans, hesitating there as I pull back just enough to look into her eyes, silently asking permission.
Her answer is to reach between us, palm pressing firmly against my bulge.
“Jesus,” I hiss, dropping my forehead to her shoulder.
I unbutton her jeans, savoring the anticipation. She lifts her butt off the sink for just a moment, while I slide her jeans down, and then it’s all systems go. My fingers dip just below the waistband of her underwear, feeling the soft skin there, and the slight tremor that runs through her.
“Touch me,” she says, voice ragged. “Now.”
I comply, sliding my hand further down, fingers finding her warm and wet with want. Her hips buck against my hand as I stroke her, circling her clit with my thumb. I watch her face as pleasure overtakes her, cataloging every expression, every hitched breath, every?—
“Stop doing that,” she half-sobs and half-laughs, breathless with pleasure.
“Doing what?” I freeze my hand in place. “That?”
“No!” She protests, grabbing my hand and forcing movement. “I mean stop looking at me like you’re memorizing me for a drawing.”
I nearly laugh as I pick up the pace again, earning a moan in response. “Can you read my mind?”
She pulls back, eyes narrowing. “Like a book,” she says, then lunges forward to capture my mouth again.
While we kiss, my fingers continue their exploration, dipping inside her, feeling her clench around me. My other hand? Well, it’s having a great time with one of her breasts, pinching the nipple until it’s like a small pebble. Between the two, I’ve got enough feedback from her body that she wants me.
Doesn’t hate me.
Doesn’t loathe me.
Wantsme.
The feeling is mutual, and as her hand on my cock tightens, even through denim, I feel myself throb in response. But she’s not caressing so much as claiming, as if to let go of me or break the moment would send her spiraling again…
Then I’m on my knees in front of her, yanking her jeans down her thighs. She lifts her hips to help, and soon she’s half-naked in this tiny bathroom, her underwear the only thing between my mouth and where I desperately want to taste her.
I look up at her, struck again by how perfect she is—curls wild from my hands, cheeks flushed, and lips parted. Our eyes lock, and something shifts between us. The anger is still there, but beneath it is something raw and vulnerable that makes my chest ache.
She reaches down, brushes my hair off my forehead with a gentleness that feels out of place in this frantic encounter. “This is a bad idea,” she says softly.
“The worst,” I agree, but I don’t move away. Instead, I press a kiss to her inner thigh, feeling her shiver in response.
“We should stop,” she says, but her legs part further,inviting me closer, the mixed messages making me inch forward a little more…
“Totally.” I pause again. “But do you want to?”
In response, she just grabs my hair and pulls me up to kiss her again. It’s urgent, fierce, and I can feel so much doubt and pain radiating off her, that I just want to be the cure for her ailment. Her hands again find the inside of my shirt, her nails scratching down my chest, and I wonder if thisisthe cure.
