Page 42 of Glass Rose
And yet…
I nod.
He closes the last few inches slowly, deliberately, giving me time to change my mind. I don’t. His lips meet mine, tentative at first, a question mark rather than an exclamation point. I answer by trailing my hands up his chest.
Then something shifts, breaks open. He frames my face with both hands as he deepens the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of my lips, and I open for him on a gasp, desperate for the taste of something real and sweet.
Possibility. Survival.
Safety.
My fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt like I could scratch his heart out, and he groans in approval, trapping me against the shelving unit. The discomfort of it digging into my back grounds me in this moment, reminds me I’m alive when so many aren’t.
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is insane. We barely know each other, the world is ending, we could be interrupted, and I did horrible things, but I don’t care.
I am a monster.
I need this. Need him.
I need to not think for five fucking minutes.
His hands grip my ass, lifting me against him with ease, and I wrap my legs around his waist, grinding against the hard length of him through our clothes.
He really wants me.
“Gavin—”
“Fuck.” His hands squeeze my ass, fingers biting into the soft flesh.
I stiffen, instinctively sucking my belly in. My body must feel softer and fuller than the women he’s used to. Unlike Dr. Cho’s slender frame or the athletic bodies of military women.
He growls against my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I try to focus on the sensation of his mouth, his hands, anything, but these stupid thoughts crawling up my spine.
He pulls back, eyes narrowing. “Your heart rate just spiked. And not in the good way.”
Fuck these enhanced senses of his. I can’t even lie properly. “It’s just—” I gesture vaguely at my body, heat rushing to my face. “I’m not exactly…”
His brow furrows for a moment before understanding dawns. A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, vibrating against mine.
“What?” I look away. “Why are you laughing?”
He lifts me higher against him, and his mouth finds my ear. “Every soft curve of you drives me fucking crazy. You think I don’t want to sink my teeth into every inch of you?”
His words ignite a fire inside me, the heat on my face spreading lower, making my thighs clench around his waist. I’ve never heard anyone talk to me with that raw, unfiltered desire that makes no apologies.
“I want soft. I want warm.” He grinds against me. “I want you wet and desperate underneath me.”
“Really?”
“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” His hand creeps under my shirt, calloused fingers wandering over my waist, my ribs, stopping just below my breast. Waiting. “All those months in that cell, watching you through the glass…”
“You shouldn’t have been thinkinganything. I was part of?—”
“I know exactly what you were part of.” His voice hardens, but his touch remains gentle, contradicting his tone. “But that didn’t stop me from wondering how you’d taste.” His thumb brushes over my nipple through my bra. “How you’d sound when you come.”
His admission stuns me. All those months? While I was documenting experiments, watching him through observation windows, he was watching me back? Wanting me. The thought makes me dizzy with a strange, heady power.
