Page 70 of Tears of Ink

“Funny haha, or funny strange?”

He grins, and it’s beautiful, shining in the dark. “Both.”

I place my hand on his cheek, holding his face as I stare at him intently. “I’m totally and utterly fucked-up. And you should beware of damaged goods.”

When he shrugs, it squeezes me even tighter against his chest.

I can see the shape of the outhouse looming into focus and my fingers slide around his neck, smoothing into the short hair at the back of his head. Stretching towards him, I place my lips against his, waiting for him to hesitate, to push me away. But he does neither, as the night air and a million possibilities swirl around us.

“Stay,” I mutter into the warm skin of his neck, and leaning into the door behind him, he snatches the latch and lets us in.

C H A P T E R T W E N T Y

The door closes with a soft click and it’s like every second of the past few weeks is screeching to a halt in the very moment.

“You said you weren’t going to sleep with me.” I’m regretting the last glass of wine, but maybe if I hadn’t sunk it down I would never have uttered that four-letter-word.

God, his hands are on me. Warm and firm, they slide up my skin, and I shiver despite the heat burning from his touch. With firm fingers he pulls on the band holding my hair and frees the blonde strands until they frame my face. His dark and deep gaze sweeps along every inch of me.

“I’ve never seen a picture like you before.”

My knees tremble with the intensity of his words and a dark licking flame kindles in the pit of my belly, stoking a fire of desire.

I want him to kiss me like I have never wanted to be kissed before. I want to be consumed with that fire like I was earlier in his studio.

“Wait a minute.” I push him away a fraction, although I regret the space between us instantly. “What Elijah have I got here right now?”

He smiles, his head cocked to the side. “There’s more than one?”

I grasp his chin with my fingers and hold his face still as I stare deep into his eyes. “You know there is.”

“Do you care?” It’s a tight question.

“No.”

“Sure?”

“Kiss me already.”

And he does, consuming every molecule of oxygen in my body as his lips crush against mine, tilting my chin with his fingers and dancing his tongue into the depths of my mouth. It’s unreal. No one can kiss that well. Every movement he makes is like I’ve known it for a million years and never tasted it before, all at once.

He pulls on my bottom lip with his teeth and I groan, throwing my head back so he can have access to my throat. I want him so bad, my legs are shaking. I want him inside me, making all the bad times right. I have this inexplicable understanding in my soul that he could. For every crest I’ve cruised to an unsatisfied ending, I know he could turn that around—it’s all there in his kiss.

He guides me to the bed and pushes me gently down onto the mattress, straddling my waist, and pressing softly on my hips to keep me in place. “Some rules,” he says.

Now I know why he’s pinned me down. “Rules?” My head’s whirling a little. I really shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine.

“Don’t get all stroppy, but I’m not sleeping with you tonight.”

“Why did you say you’d stay, if you don’t want to have sex?” He’s not going to do this to me again is he?

“I don’t have to have sex with you to enjoy you.” He leans down and kisses the end of my nose, then quicker than I can guess his move—not hard after three large wines—he grabs my hands and pins them above my head.

“Way to make me feel cheap.”

His eyes narrow. “There is nothing cheap about you.”

I laugh, but it’s a disgusted, dirty sound.