Page 43 of These Rough Waters

“I tried to ignore it,” I admit honestly, “I told myself I didn’t want you. But I think about you every damn night, little doe. I think about your sighs and your whimpers, I dream about your rare smiles and wonder what your laugh might sound like if it was aimed at me. And every minute, of every day I can’t help but imagine what your mouth might feel like on mine. What you taste like, is it the same as the way you smell? Like rain after a hot day or spring flowers? Or is it sweeter? Not knowing is killing me. It’s fucking killing me.”

“Why?” She breathes.

“I don’t know, little doe. But it’s proving too hard to ignore and this fucking need to taste you is driving me crazy.”

“You don’t want me, Torin.” She says, standing still and letting me approach.

“You’re wrong.”

“I’m not. You want what’s new.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone from your past.”

Her head tips back as I stop in front of her so she can maintain eye contact and her throat bobs with a swallow, “You don’t know what I’m doing. You have no idea.” She tries to add bite to those words, but it misses the mark and comes out on a soft whisper.

“Then tell me.” I murmur.

“No.”

My teeth bite into my bottom lip as my finger curls under her chin, “No?”

“No.”

“Why?”

She quirks a brow and steels her eyes, it’s like watching a shutter come down over a window, “Because your sudden interest in me doesn’t excuse the fact that you were an asshole. Right up until… untilthat thinghappened. You don’t like me.”

“I like you very much.”

“No, you don’t.”

“How’d you know I wasn’t just trying to warn you off from me, little doe?”

“Because that behavior can’t be faked.” She proclaims.

“There’s a lot that can be faked, just like you right now. I know you think about it, about me. Your curiosity is eating at you. You want to know what I taste like just as much as I am dying to have you on my tongue.”

Her cheeks flush and I fucking love how responsive she is, how words and touch leave a physical mark.

“You don’t want me,” She breathes.

My fingers weave into the soft strands of her hair, anchoring her in place, “Tell another lie.”

“I don’t want you.”

“Another one, little doe,” I rasp, leaning in close.

“Don’t kiss me.”

My mouth crashes against hers and the moment my lips meet her softness, I groan, the taste and feel of her so much more than I had ever thought possible. Kissing her felt like the beginning and the end, like that first breath of air when you’ve been under water too long. It was the only thing right, the only thing I needed. Kissing Maya was a ruin set in motion. It was lightning in the dark sky, the seas during a storm. Demanding. Devastating. An explosion so fucking disastrous it felt as if every atom of my being was being remolded and shaped, becoming inherently hers and only hers. Like she owned my very soul.

A soft sigh escapes her, and I can’t help but swallow it down, my tongue sweeping through her lips to taste her more, reveling in how her tongue matches mine, begging for a taste too.

Her fingers curl into the flannel shirt, tugging me closer as my fingers weave into the silky strands of her hair, tugging just a little to hold her close and manipulate her head back, opening her up for me. I press her back against the counter, pushing my thigh between her legs and lifting, wanting another euphoric picture of her riding it.

“Torin,” she gasps out, dragging her mouth away from mine as if to stop it. If it weren’t for the lingering butterfly presses of her mouth to the side of mine, I would’ve have stopped.

“No lies, little doe,” I kiss her jaw, “no lies.”

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