Page 42 of Ransom
He dropped his eyes to my lips and stayed there until I pulled his hands off my face. Then he leaned forward and kissed me.
The softness of it almost made me pull back. His lips landed on mine like a question, and he brought his hand up to the side of my face and cupped my jaw. The pad of his thumb rested against my cheekbone. He parted his lips just enough and tilted his head and kissed me deeper, still slow, still careful, and the sound he made was quiet and aching and private.
My hands shook.
His mouth moved against mine, and I could taste the whiskey and the want underneath it. He kissed me like it mattered. Like I mattered.
I couldn't take it.
I bit his lip hard. Hard enough that he jerked back and brought his hand up to his mouth, and when he pulled it away, there was blood on his fingers. He looked at the blood, then at me, and his pupils blew wide.
"There he is," he said.
I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and slammed him into the wall. The cat bolted off the bed and shot under it. The nightstand jumped and Chance's photo went down. I put myforearm across his chest to hold him there and put my mouth an inch from his ear.
"I would kill any man who put a hand on you," I said. "Anyone. I don't care who. I'd put him in the ground and I wouldn't lose a goddamn minute of sleep over it."
He went still under my arm.
I pulled back enough to see his face. His eyes were wide and his mouth was open and the blood on his lip was already drying.
"You hear me?"
"I hear you."
I licked the blood off his lip. He opened for me, and I shoved my tongue in his mouth. He bit me back, caught my lower lip between his teeth and pulled until my eyes watered. I yanked my head back, and he came with me, teeth still locked, and laughed against my mouth when I cursed.
"That all you got?" he said.
I grabbed his shirt and pulled. The buttons gave up in a scatter across the floor. He shrugged out of it and dropped it. I went for his belt and he went for my jaw, sucking hard at the underside of it, finding the place where my pulse beat and biting down. I felt the skin break. I felt his tongue come over the bite to taste it. I let out a low growl.
"Goddammit, Winston —"
"Mm." He pulled back enough to look at his work. "That'll show in the morning."
I shoved him off the wall and toward the bed. He went, but he went slowly, dragging it out, walking backwards with his hands at my waistband, working my jeans open as we went. His knuckles dragged against my cock through the denim, and I caught his wrist and twisted his arm behind his back and walked him the rest of the way like that. He laughed, breathless. His ass came up against the edge of the mattress and I shoved.
He went down on his back. I came down with him.
The kiss got messier. Wet, sloppy, too much tongue, both of us tasting blood and whiskey and each other. He spit in my mouth and I swallowed it and bit his bottom lip again on the way back up. He hissed.
Winston's hands were everywhere: down my back, scoring lines into my shoulders with his nails. When he got to the bruise on my ribs, he pressed, and I gasped and bit his shoulder for it, and he made a sound like I'd done him a favor.
"Off," I said against his throat. "Pants. Off."
He kicked his boots off. I yanked his zipper open and he lifted his hips so I could pull his jeans down and I threw them somewhere. His cock sprang up against his stomach, dark at the head, already wet at the tip.
I dragged my mouth down his throat to his collarbone and sucked a mark there, hard, holding it until I knew it would bruise dark. He swore at the ceiling. I moved an inch and did it again. And again. By the time I worked down to his nipple, his throat was bright red, and when I bit the nipple, he arched off the bed and his cock smeared pre-cum across my stomach.
"Christ," he panted. "Christ, Ransom —"
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I crawled back up his body and shoved two fingers in his mouth.
He took them, sucking like he was practicing for my cock, his eyes locked on mine the whole time. I worked them in and out of his mouth and my cock throbbed against his hip. When I pulled them out, his lips were red and slick, and a thread of spit followed my fingers.
