Page 40 of Sinful
Should tell him to go back inside, should go find Elfe, should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
But all I say is: "No."
The moment hangs between us.
His hand is still hovering.
My breath is coming faster.
The air crackling with something that feels like violence bleeding into hunger.
We're inches apart.
We could kiss and should walk away.
Bravos grabs my wrist, yanking me deeper into the shadows.
His grip is iron, fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to bruise.
He doesn't say a word—just spins me around and slams my back against the rough brick wall.
The impact jars my spine, but I don't flinch.
I meet his eyes, those dead pools now burning with the same feral hunger I'd seen during the brawl.
“Do you fuck like you fight?” he growls, his Texas drawl rough as gravel.
His body presses in close, trapping me, his chest heaving against mine.
Heat radiates off him, mixing with the metallic tang of blood on his skin.
I don't answer with words.
My hands fist in his cut, pulling him harder against me.
Our mouths crash together, teeth clashing in a brutal kiss.
He tastes like whiskey and violence, his tongue shoving past my lips to claim every inch.
I bite down on his lower lip, drawing a hiss from him, and he retaliates by grinding his hips forward.
His cock strains against his jeans, thick and insistent, rubbing against my thigh.
“Fuck, Hell,”' he mutters, breaking the kiss to drag his mouth down my neck.
His teeth scrape over my pulse, then sink in—not gentle, but marking me with a sharp sting that makes my pussy clench.
I arch into him, my nails raking down his back, tearing at the leather of his vest.
He shoves a hand between us, rough fingers popping the button on my jeans.
No patience, no teasing—just yanking the zipper down and shoving his palm inside.
His calluses scrape my skin as he cups my mound, then plunges two fingers straight into my wet pussy.
I gasp, my walls gripping him tight.
He pumps them hard, curling to hit that spot that makes my knees buckle.
