Page 225 of The Night Shift
I can’t help the small smile. “Charming and handsome?”
“Infuriating and stubborn,” she says, sniffing. “It’s not fair. What if I’m never able to talk about things the way you do? What if I never get there like you?”
I wipe a tear from her cheek. “Then I’ll love your silence just the same.”
A sound slips from her. A half-laugh, half-sob, like it snuck past her defenses. “That’s extremely corny.”
“Maybe. But you’re still not getting rid of me. I’ll follow you till the day I die.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“Mmhm,” I say, already leaning in. “Shut up and kiss me already.”
“Don’t tell me what to do —”
I kiss her stubborn mouth shut.
Hard. Slow. Deep.
My hand fists in her hair and I drag her mouth to mine like I’ve been waiting my whole life to be ruined by her. To taste every fucking lie she’s ever told herself about not needing anyone. About not needing me.
Don’t push me away.
Don’t say that shit again.
Don’t tell me this isn’t real when I’ve bled for you.
I kiss her like I need her more than air.I do.
Her lips part on a gasp and I take it, greedy and unrelenting. She kisses me back. I groan into her mouth, hand sliding down to her waist, pulling her onto my lap until she shifts over the center console, her thighs straddling mine, and I can feel her heat through her jeans.
My other arm stays in its sling, useless but pressed tightly between us, like even it refuses to be left out of touching her.
“You are a good person, Holly,” I whisper, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe her in. “You are so fucking good it hurts to look at you. You’re the sun.”
She kisses me harder. Bites my lip like she wants to draw blood.
I move to her jaw, her throat, pressing open-mouth kisses to every inch of skin I can find. She tilts her head for me. Offers herself like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
The car windows are fogged now, the air inside thick with heat and sweat.
My hand fumbles beneath her cardigan, dragging it down one shoulder. She helps, tugging it free with a jerk of her arm. Her breath is ragged, almost feral when I finally cup her through the lace of her bra.
She moans, sharp and low, the sound vibrating against my mouth. I drag my thumb over her skin, through the lace. She gasps.
Her hands clutch at my shoulders, nails biting through my shirt. “More. I need more.”
“I’ll give you anything you need.”
I pull her cardigan up roughly, the fabric bunching over her bra as I shove it back. I yank the cup of her bra down with one hard tug. It tears at the seam, exposing her like she’s a gift I’m unwrapping too fast. I drop my mouth to her tits like a man possessed.
Her back hits the steering wheel with a thud. The horn gives a pathetic wheeze, but neither of us gives a damn.
She grinds herself down on me. I groan against her skin, teeth catching the soft curve of her breast before I bite. Hard. Her body arches, and I flick my tongue over the same spot while my hand rolls and tugs at the other nipple.
She moans.
And I love her like this. Uninhibited. Demanding. Absolutely wrecked.
