Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 531(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“You want me to kiss you.” He stared at me abhorrently, like I was deranged.
I barked out a laugh, snatching my wrists back so I could answer. “You’re delusional.”
“You’re more fucked up than I suspected.”
How could he read me so well? It drove me to madness.
“I just might kill you,” I warned.
“I just might let you,” he deadpanned. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want us to kiss?”
“Because…” I spluttered, dying of embarrassment. “Well, forget about it!”
I spun again, but he tugged me back to his body, grabbing my jaw and tilting my head up.
“I may not be good.”
I huffed, wanting to strangle him. This absolute idiota.
“I think we can handle one bad kiss.” My hands moved clumsily. “We both survived far worse.”
“Whiskey in a teacup,” he muttered to himself, staring at me in fascination. “Unassuming to the naked eye. But so sharp. And oh, that bite.”
I didn’t have time to ask him what he meant.
His lips fastened over mine.
We both stilled, holding our breaths. Tiernan was the first to put his hand on my face, snaking his other one around my waist, drawing me in.
It was cautious and exploratory. Like treading into a foreign body of water. At first, it was so soft, I second-guessed its own existence. A tentative brush of the lips. A breath that passed between us, where I couldn’t tell who inhaled and who exhaled.
But then he applied more pressure against my mouth, and the decorum and elegance my mother taught me all flew out the window as I pressed all of me against all of him and opened my mouth, darting my tongue to trace his lower lip.
It was plump and warm. My toes curled inside my shoes.
His deep groan of surrender echoed inside my body. His mouth opened over mine, his hand sliding into my hair. He tugged on the elastic holding my hair in a ponytail, letting the yellow tendrils fall across my face, deepening our kiss.
It felt like slowly drifting into a sweet dream while slightly drunk on the finest wine. Our tongues touched for the first time, and fireworks exploded in the pit of my stomach. All my blood rushed between my legs. I clawed at his chest, rising on my tiptoes, demanding more.
His mouth became frenzied, greedy, nipping and biting and kissing and tonguing. We kissed for a few minutes before he ripped his mouth off mine, staring at me feverishly, a stunned glint in his eye. We were both panting hard.
“Shit.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. “Fuck.”
My heart bottomed out. Did I do something wrong?
But then he grabbed my face roughly and kissed me again, even more wildly. I locked my arms around his neck, moaning into his mouth. He hoisted me up to wrap my legs around his waist, pressing me against the cubicle wall. I could feel the thuds of gunshots popping against my spine each time someone took a shot in the range, and the vibration seemed to hum in a tiny, secret place in my core. Wild and fast like my heartbeat. My husband tasted so good. Like coffee and mint and absolution. His cock was nestled in my opening through our clothes, pulsating against it.
I pulled my mouth from his, gulping a quick breath, and released my hands from around his neck to sign, “Do you think we’re doing it correctly?”
“Don’t fucking care.” His teeth caught my bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. “I want more of it.”
We kissed again. This time our tongues danced together, and I dished it as good as he served it. I was putty in his hands. Hands that knew how to shoot the same target down to the millimeter. Hands that killed, tortured, and destroyed many lives.
Hands I knew would never hurt me.
My husband. My protector. My macabre fantasy.
Rubbing my breasts over his torso, enjoying the friction against my nipples, I traced the tip of my tongue along his lips, and then kissed him more deeply. He groaned against my mouth, sucking my tongue ardently.
The fabric of my shirt teased my skin, begging to be ripped.
It took everything in me to tear my lips from his, and I only did that because it felt like I was wetting myself. My underwear was damp, even though I didn’t feel like peeing.
I pressed my palms to his chest, and he immediately set me down, releasing me from his hold. But whereas I was panting like a rabid animal fleeing a predator, he appeared to be unaffected, save for his swollen, pink lips and the erection in his slacks.
“Okay?” he asked.
I nodded.
“You look terrified.”
My cheeks flamed with heat. “Something happened.”
“Yeah. No shit.”
“Not that…”
He wiped his lower lip with his thumb, searching my face.
“I think I had an accident.”
God, this was excruciating to admit. But what if that meant something was wrong with the baby? I knew nothing about childbearing.