Page 64 of Sinner's Salvation

Violet lifts her chin up while I cage her in. With her, I don’t think. I react. I need to be next to her, to inhale her, to feel her.

“I was hungry.”

“So, you didn’t come down to see how I was doing because I didn’t look for you?”

I taunt her, and her nose crinkles in anger; the small ridges her nose forms captivate me.

“Dream on.”

“Hmm, newsflash. Last night you were in my arms, being thoroughly kissed by me.”

“It must’ve been one hell of a kiss for you to remember,” she says. Confident Violet is my favorite. “And it won’t happen again.”

I lean into her, only an inch between our lips, and I feel the tingle of anticipation.

“Will you stop me, then?”

“Yes,” she whispers. She’s confused and has no idea what to do with me, just like me. This is unfamiliar territory for both of us.

“Then stop me.”

But she doesn’t. As my mouth inches toward her, satisfaction fills up my body. Surely, this is how addiction starts—the pure need to feel the euphoria kick in.

Her tongue probes my mouth, and I open for her. She goes from shy to hungry, delving deeper, greedily tasting me as my lips devour hers. Her lips feel so fucking good, a slice of heaven. Her small moan goes straight to my cock, and I grip the table’s edge to keep from touching her. I beg for restraint. I give her the control while need ravages me.

She ends the kiss and pats her lips—pure and naked incredulity looks back at me. I prepare myself to watch her rush upstairs and hide. Instead, she says, “I like to kiss you.”

Her confession sends me to my damn knees. This right now feels monumental, and I can’t afford to fuck it up. So, I remain silent and smile to encourage her to give me something more. Anything.

She tilts her head. “It surprises me because I don’t even like you.”

I arch a brow. Her body likes me just fine. Her brain put a big red enemy mark on me.

“I really don’t.”

Following the double negation rule, how to interpret her words would be obvious, but I know her interior world is more complex and complicated than a grammatical rule.

“I’m afraid. Don’t ask me of what because I won’t tell you.”

Why does she do that? That’s a challenge in my book, and my brain won’t fucking stop until it uncovers it.

“So where does that leave us, then?”

She shrugs, biting down on her lower lip, the gesture so damn maddening. “Maybe I can kiss you when I want?”

“That’s pretty one-sided.”

“And?”

Laughter rocks my body. That makes her glare at me. I pick a strand of her wig.

“You can use me for kissing while you uncover yourself.”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head so hard, I’m afraid she will dislocate her neck.

I lean into her, knowing I have to sweeten the deal. “And you can ask me questions.”

What the fuck is wrong with me? She’ll say no, then I can calm the fuck down and go back to bed.

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