Page 28 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You
She startles, almost toppling onto her arse. I hear her huff and move away, until the blinding light hits me.
I look around her space. It feels cosy… hers. My eyes catch on an object near my feet, the very thing she used tocrack against my head, her so called weapon of choice in an emergency, if I had to guess.
And what a weapon…
I don’t know whether to laugh or lose my temper, because lying at my feet is a bloody dildo.
A huge pink dildo. Very much hers.
I lift my gaze to her, one brow raised. She shifts from one leg to the other, drowning in an oversized white T-shirt and fluffy socks, her long white hair a tangled mess, her cheeks flushed pink as she bites her lower lip.
Fuck, she’s so damn cute. Kissable. Shame she’s also the woman I hate.
“So that’s what you reach for to defend yourself against an intruder, is it?” I drawl.
Her blush deepens. “It was the closest thing to me…”
I step nearer, bending until my lips brush her ear.
“So… the kiss this morning left you wanting?”
She nods, so slight she likely doesn’t even realise it, and the smallest movement curves a cruel smirk across my mouth.
“Ah, so it’s attention your pretty cunt is after.” My hand skims her cheek, down the line of her throat, over the swell of her breast, her stomach, her thigh. I slip beneath the hem of her shirt, higher and higher until I find her bare.
The discovery sends a vicious rush through me. The thought of her sprawled here earlier, shirt ridden up, cunt wet and waiting for me—only me—to sink in and split her apart, has my cock straining with the urge to take.
I nip at her ear as my fingers circle her clit. She gasps, breath hitching, and whispers, “Don’t.”
“Say it like you mean it, and I won’t.”
But she doesn’t. She stays silent, torn, and I take her silence as permission. I push two fingers inside her, groaning at thetight heat that clenches around me. “Bloody hell… you grip me like a vice.”
I work her slowly, thumb still teasing her clit, and she writhes beneath me, hands fisting into my shirt to steady herself.
“You’re not using that toy ever again,” I rasp. “Not unless I’m in the room to watch.”
Her lips twitch, but her voice is breathless when she whispers, “Why do you sound jealous of my vibrator?”
“Because when your pussy needs filling, you come to me. I’ll stuff you full, stretch you open until you can’t think. My cock will ruin you. No plastic could ever compare.”
“You’re insane. You’re actually jealous of a toy.”
“No.” The lie burns in my throat, because of course I am.
I’m fucking unravelling over her, but she’ll never know it. All she’ll see is loathing in my eyes, and if I’m feeling generous, an orgasm or two to keep her pliant. It’s the only way I can convince myself she’ll leave my system.
And yet here I am, in her dorm, fingers buried deep in her pussy, utterly incapable of staying the fuck away.
So rule number three nearly went to hell as well.
It never specified what kind of fucking—and being buried knuckle deep inside her cunt certainly qualifies.
I shove the thought aside and quicken my pace. My teeth find her neck, and she moans as she tightens around my fingers and breaks apart, trembling through release.
She’s shaking, flushed, undone, the very picture of post orgasmic bliss. I close my eyes, breathing her in. Damn, she’s intoxicating.
I draw my fingers from her slowly and step back. She watches me the whole time, hair mussed, lips parted, gaze fixed on me. I lift my hand to her mouth.
