Page 96 of Madness & Mercy
It doesn’t calm the fire in me; it throws gasoline on it. My whole body aches. Being kissed by him feels like a mercy I don’t deserve. Like a cruel fucking gift.
Like a sip of water in the middle of the desert, just enough to remind me how goddamn thirsty I am.
“More,”I breathe, clutching fistfuls of his shirt, dragging him closer like I’ll die if he pulls away. “Give me more.”
His mouth curves into a smirk against mine.
“Soneedy,”he murmurs. “I like you like this.”
He sinks his teeth into my bottom lip, just enough to sting, before crashing back into my mouth like he owns it. Like Iowehim this.
I’m already breathless, drunk on him, and holyfuck,I’ve never been this turned on in my entire life.
His fist twists in the collar of my shirt, dragging me forward with that unrelenting grip until my back slams into the edge of the table. He lifts me onto it like I weigh nothing, setting me down between crystal glasses and silverware.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, my eyes darting toward the door. “What if someone walks in?”
He just laughs, low and dangerous.
“No one’s walking in.”
“And what if someone hears?”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
“Then you’ll just have to be a good boy… and stayquiet.”
My heart stutters. That shouldn’t turn me on, but it does.
He leans back slightly, loosening his tie, and with practiced ease, unbuttons his shirt.
My breath leaves me in one harsh exhale.
Across his chest, there’s this massive tattoo of a golden snake winding around his ribs, its body wrapped in thorned red flowers. But beneath itis the real story: a history written in scars. Knife wounds. Bullet holes. Faded burns. Every one of them a silent threat.
“You’re staring,” he says, that wolfish smile tugging at his lips.
“No I’m not,” I lie, hoarsely.
He steps in between my legs and reaches behind me, plucking one of the remaining strawberries from the silver tray. Then, scooping up a dollop of whipped cream with two fingers, he drags it across my chest in a slow line.
“Let’s see if you taste sweeter than you act.”
His mouth follows the trail of cream, his tongue hot and slow.
I moan before I can stop it, clawing at his belt.
“Nico—”
He lifts his head, eyes gleaming.
“Desperate already?”
Then he smears another line of whipped cream down my stomach, tracing just above the waistband of my pants. He doesn’t lick it clean this time, not yet. He just lets it sit there, sticky and cool against my burning skin.
He feeds me a strawberry and watches as I bite into it, juice running down the corner of my mouth. He catches it with his thumb, then pushes it between my lips.
“Don’t waste it.”
