Page 65 of Rebel
Another thought takes over. One that scares me more than his knife carefully and delicately moving against my skin. Rebel came here to stop himself killing someone. He came tome. Yet I know with everything inside me he will neverhurt me.
“I’m the kind of man who lays his cards out on the table when I want to, little villain. Why hide what I want, when that is you?”
My tongue doubles in size, making it impossible to respond. He ducks his head, his eyes never leaving mine as he sucks my nipple between his lips and bites down, not enough to hurt, but damn well enough to have my resolve up and running out of the door.
My moan and back arch give away far too quickly how much I want him. His stupid smirk makes me want to grab the knife and stab him in the eye. A dark thought best left locked in the back of my brain.
Instead, I take hold of his hair and press him harder against my breast, forcing his eyes away from mine.
The pull of his lips makes me want to squeeze my thighs together, but his big body is between them and he’s not touching where I need him to. It’s time I take back the power.
“Something you want, little villain?”
Pulling back my legs, I use my knee to press his chest and nudge him back further so he is up on one knee, following him until we’re facing one another. He watches me rise to stand in front of him so I can remove my pants, taking my underwear too, then shrug off the shredded shirt.
His eyes darken as he takes me in, and I lift a brow.
“Why are you always wearing clothes, biker boy?”
“Boy?” he scoffs.
When I stare him down, Rebel unfolds himself and stands to his full height. I might be tall for a woman, but I still angle my head back to meet his heated gaze. Mine becomes just as lustful as he drags down his zipper, toes off his boots, then kicks them away.
It gets harder to breathe when he removes the rest of his clothes, tossing them on the couch behind him. Through it all, he kept the knife in his hand. A bolt of fear, chased by desire runs through my body, making me shiver.
He’s beautiful. From his sculpted face, pretty dark eyes, and all the tattoos decorating his skin. His abdomen flexes as I take him all in, the Adonis belt with the tattooed flames that surround his cock, which is hard and pulsing as I study it with no shame whatsoever.
This man is dangerous, his cut on my couch and the reason he came here, to stop him doing something terrible tonight, all prove that.
Kill a man.
The irony is not lost on me we’re standing on hallowed ground. If I believed in God, I’m pretty sure both of us would be ash by now.
We step closer together, and I put my hands on either side of his neck, choosing to trust him, I draw his face down. I want to kiss him more than I want to breathe right now. He grips my hip with the hand not holding the knife, and our mouths meet. There is no rush, no out of control desperate clawing at each other. Rebel owns me with this kiss.
The cool surface of the knife trails a path down my abdomen, and I freeze, having to fight the subconscious fight-or-flight part of my brain. Goosebumps rise on my skin, and a red-hot shot of desire races down my spine.
“I won’t cut you,” he murmurs against my lips. “Do you trust me?”
My eyes rise to meet his. We’re so close together, our breath mingling. I’ve already let him cut me before, and I’ve done the same to him, but this is different.
He waits, watching me, and I know he will stop if I tell him to.
Any sane person would back out of this, given what I know about him, the memory of blood splashed on his clothes, the busted-up knuckles from using his fists against someone.
“Yes,” I tell him, he doesn’t want me to nod my head or whisper the words. He wants them clear and genuine.
“Spread your legs,” he says after giving me a soft kiss, our lips barely touching.
I do as he asks and look down between us when he slides the knife lower. My stomach quivers, but he isn’t moving the blade over my skin anymore, it’s the handle. He’s holding it at the hilt, with the blunt edge against his palm, but one wrong move and he will cut himself.
He sees the moment I surrender, knowing I’m putting my safety and my trust into the palm of his hands and the knife he is holding there.
The first touch of it against my clit has my teeth clamping down tight on my lip. If the knife doesn’t draw blood, my teeth will with how hard I’m biting.
Rebel tugs my lip free as he uses the handle to tease my clit before lowering it and running it shallowly between my lips.
“Don’t move, little villain.”
