Page 67 of Wild Card
His hands on my waist. His hips pressed against mine. His lips claiming my mouth.
My head spins, my body surging to catch up with him. Sure, I’d been taunting him, but I really didn’t know if he had it in him to pounce.
There’s nothing soft or seeking about the way he kisses me. He ravages me. We attack each other with fervor. A desperate moan vibrates in my throat as I kiss him back. My palms slide up his chest, squeezing his shoulders, fingers trailing over the back of his neck before slipping into his hair.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tangling with mine as he turns us roughly, shoving me against the porch railing before his hands drop, gripping my ass. He squeezes once, a hungry groan spilling from his lips as he grinds his hard length against me in one sensual rotation of his hips.
“Fuck yes,” I murmur, hiking a leg up around his waist. Desperate for more.
His broad palm slides over the curve of my ass, gliding under my thigh while he continues to kiss me senseless. He grinds against me, and it’s all too easy to imagine us. Like this.With nothing between us. I lose myself to the fantasy. There’s a desperate edge to our kiss—it’s the first drink of cool, fresh water after months stranded in the desert.
“Again,” I beg against his lips, wanting another feel of his cock pressing against my core.
For a moment, I think he’s going to give me what I want. He lifts me like I weigh nothing and sets me on the railing, stepping between my legs.
But then he pulls back to take me in with dazed eyes. My lips feel swollen and my body hot as his scorching gaze rakes over me, leaving a path of fire in its wake.
“Fucking look at you,” he says, his breathing labored. “Fucking perfect. And so fucking off-limits.”
I reach forward, tugging the front of his plaid jacket. “I’m not off-limits.”
He lets out a gruff chuckle. “Yeah. You are.”
Bash’s fingers grip me hard, pulling me tight against his front. He kisses my neck, teeth grazing over my jaw. I shudder, pressing my chest into him. Wanting more. The feel of his stubble on my throat. His hands on me. My clothes feel too constricting, too hot. I want them off. I wanthimto take them off.
I try to explain myself, wanting so desperately for Tripp to not be a factor. “We were never really a thing. And we’ve been over for?—”
“That poor kid waxed poetic about you all night,” Bash cuts me off, speaking between languid kisses down my chest, his tongue darting out over the tops of my breasts. “For all the wrong reasons but still. I had to sit there and pat his back over it. And do you know what I was thinking about the entire time?”
I blink. I had no clue Tripp was still upset over our breakup. “What’s that?”
“That he was a fool to let you get away. But that it was just as well because I could fuck you better.”
I suck in a breath as Bash’s dark eyes bore into mine.
“Listening to him talk about you made me want to come home and take you just to prove to myself that I could. Does that make me jealous, Gwen?”
My heart hammers against my ribs, and I lick my lips, meeting his wild gaze. “I think it does.”
His hand slides up my side, palming every curve before slipping to the back of my head and fisting my hair. “And what the hell am I supposed to do about that, huh?”
The way he manhandles me with such authority has my body fucking singing.Begging.
I wiggle my hips closer, panting.
“What am I supposed to do with you, Gwen? We’re just starting to figure this thing out. He’ll never forgive me if I do this. I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.”
Then let’s be damned togetheris what I want to say. But the tug of one strand of hair provides just enough of a sting that reality finds its way into the lust-filled moment. One tendril sneaking through a crack.
My chest hurts for him. I know in my bones that he’s trapped in an impossible position—we both are. And that if I’m the one who pushes him to act against his better judgment, he’ll hold me responsible when it all blows up.
I can’t ask him to make this mess. Not when he’ll have to face the fallout. It means he has to be the one who doesn’t care. He has to come to me and saymess be damned.
But Bash cares a lot. Beneath that stony exterior, he has the biggest heart.
It’s one thing I’ve come to love about him.
Which is why I won’t stomp all over his morals just to get what I want. It’s also why I draw away. He reads the motion, eyes shuttering as his hands go loose and he steps back.
