A Forbidden Kiss …

James splayed his fingers, taking hold of my entire cheek. He stared into my wet eyes. “Let the pain take over. Let it own you, turn you inside out. Let it win, Madison. That’s the only way to stop this, to stop feeling.”

Yes, I wanted that. I wanted it to stop. Was that why I wanted him to hurt me, dominate me?

Touching the hot skin of his forearms, tracing the bumpy veins and coarse hair, I whispered, “Show me how.”

His eyes took in my entire body, an urgent sweep of perusal. They grew heated, as if filled with angry, unforgiving lust. Biting rage and passion, glinting like that of an animal. My back arched without my say-so, and my heaving breasts pressed against the planes of his chest. I clawed at his forearm, unable to stop myself. Apparently, I was a scratcher. It was soothing. Who knew? A melody of sharp nails and stinging skin. I looked at his lips. If I took one more step toward him, I’d touch them, taste them, taste the hint of his blood.

I didn’t know who made the first move. But suddenly his hot lips were on mine and I was kissing him, sucking them into my mouth.

He shuddered, and I was right there with him. That first contact felt life-changing, breath-stealing, colorful behind my closed eyes. His taste was just as it should be, masculine, minty with a touch of tart apple juice and metallic blood. I fisted his shirt to bring him even closer. Hard planes of his chest cut into the soft curves of mine.

His arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tightly, to the point where I filled his mouth with the last of my breath, moaning. It felt like I was dying, and my skin came alive, buzzing and humming. He crushed my breasts against his rough, angular pecs. The pain fanned my need for him. I bit his lower lip, and he growled, biting me back. He pushed me until my back thumped against the tree.

All while feeding on my lips, he encircled my neck with one hand and tugged my hair with the other. The rough texture of his fingers drove me crazy, making me scratch his shirt-covered back as I locked my thighs around his waist. I pushed my core into his. It was wet, starving for him. Growling, he dug his torso into mine, making me feel his cock through his pants, big and hard.

I’d forgotten how good it could be with a man, how rough and unpolished. It’d been four years since I’d experienced something so dynamic and feral. I never wanted it to end. I didn’t know how long we latched on to each other’s lips, sucking, stroking, lapping, making sounds of pleasure or pain. Who the fuck cared? I didn’t. Then his lips were gone, and I wheezed in a breath. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted him. I looked at him and found him staring at my lips, his eyes wild and drowsy at the same time. A moment later his weight was gone, too. Why did he move away? I wanted him back.

He wiped the wetness from his lips—the wetness I gave him—with the back of his hands, and my arousal disappeared into the night. “This can’t happen again.”

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