Page 92 of Unmask
The thought should have made me pull away, should have made me stop this before it went any further. Instead, I kissed him harder, poured every apology I’d never be able to say into the space between his lips and mine, and tried to memorize the taste of his trust before I shattered it completely.
That familiar rush surged through me, sparks blooming in my belly, spiraling outward, the sensation creeping up my spine, vertebra by vertebra, until every nerve ending hummed with electric awareness. He kissed me like he needed to feel something real, something that could cut through whatever darkness had been chasing him. Like he didn’t know this was goodbye.
And God, it hurt.
My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt, the soft cotton bunching between my knuckles as I pressed closer, desperate to steal just a little more of him. The heat of his chest seeped through the thin material, his heartbeat accelerating against my palm.
His mouth moved over mine with a quiet hunger, restrained but deep, each kiss deliberate and consuming. His teeth grazed my bottom lip, and a soft moan escaped him when I responded by sliding my tongue against his. My free hand found the nape of his neck, my fingers threading through the short hair there, and he shivered against me.
I melted into him, pouring everything I couldn’t say into the way I kissed him, every apology, every confession, every desperate wish that things could be different.
He shifted above me, one hand bracing against the mattress while the other cradled my face, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone with devastating gentleness. My hands slid under his shirt, feeling the solid muscle beneath my palms, the way his breathing hitched when I traced the ripple of his abs.
He broke the kiss for just a moment, forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard in the small space between us. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and dark, causing my stomach to flip and dive. His pupils were dilated, lips slightly swollen from our kisses, and his fingers were still tangled in myhair as if he didn’t want to let go. “What was that for?” he asked, voice rough and thick with sleep and need.
I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral, my heart locked behind a glass wall that was already showing hairline cracks. “I wanted to,” I said simply.
His brow arched slowly, those silver eyes studying my face with an exposed intensity. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Why does this feel like a trap?”
The question hit closer to home than I wanted to admit. I forced a smile, just a little one, trying to keep it light. “Will you make me breakfast?”
Kreed rolled onto his back with a groan, one arm flung dramatically across his eyes as he dragged his other hand down his face. The movement pulled his shirt up slightly, revealing a strip of tanned skin that made my mouth go dry. “Not until you tell me what you’ve done with Kaylor?”
“Maybe I just realized life’s too short to hold grudges,” I said, rolling onto my side to face him. The mattress shifted under my weight, and I propped my head on my hand.
“Hmm.” He gazed up at me. “I don’t think I trust anything that comes out of that gorgeous mouth of yours.”
I laughed softly, but there was a quiver in it I couldn’t quite suppress. “Then why’d you kiss me back?”
“Because I’m a sucker for girls who taste like trouble.”
My chest squeezed like someone had wrapped a fist around my heart.
Yeah. Trouble. That’s exactly what I was.
And if things went sideways tonight… He might never kiss me again. I was the one betraying him, but staring at the hottest guy I’d ever seen, I wanted one last day to pretend, to commit every line of his face to memory, every piece of this version of us that would die with the setting sun.
I was so falling in love with him. It was about time I admitted it. At least to myself. I didn’t know if I had the gumption to tell him, but it didn’t seem fair to profess such a thing and then run away. Kreed was the type of guy who would hate that.
Hell, he might hate me come tomorrow morning when he realizes what I’d done.
20
KREED
Ididn’t cook often, but when I did, I liked the ritual of it; something about cracking eggs and flipping pancakes made me feel halfway normal. The sizzle of bacon filled the air, the skillet spitting tiny drops of grease. I shifted the strips with a fork, watching the edges curl and crisp, the meat releasing its fat in a satisfying crackle. Behind me, the kitchen island gave a subtle creak as Kaylor settled herself on top of it, legs crossed, followed by the soft rustle of fabric as she adjusted her position.
“You know,” she said slowly, “I’m honestly a little surprised you know what you’re doing.”
I didn’t turn around, just let a smirk tug at the corner of my mouth as I focused on the pan. The bacon was almost perfect, crispy but not burnt. “Surprised, huh?”
Her sudden shift in attitude toward me made me leery, setting off every alarm bell I’d learned to trust over the years. She had kissed me this morning, initiated contact with a hunger that still made my skin burn when I thought about it. I wanted to believe it was a step in her forgiving me, but it couldn’t be that simple. Not with Kaylor. Nothing was ever simple withher. Something was going on beneath that carefully neutral expression, and I planned to figure it out, but in the meantime, I could go along with the masquerade or truce, whatever this was.
“Yeah. You don’t exactly give off gourmet chef vibes.” Her legs swung over the edge.
I flicked her a glance over my shoulder, taking in the picture she made perched on the counter. Her hair was a complete mess, silver strands wavy from sleep and tousled by my fingers running through it earlier. Her shirt—my shirt, I realized with a jolt—hung off one shoulder, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone and a small freckle I’d never noticed before. Her lips were still slightly swollen from our kisses, fuller than usual and still a tempting shade of pink that made me want to abandon breakfast entirely.
She was smirking, but the faint shadows in her eyes betrayed her. She was trying to act normal, but why? What changed?
