Page 44 of Relapse

“Fuck,” he mutters roughly.

“Yeah,” I breathe. “Kinda what happens when emotionally unstable tattooed men keep looking at me like that.”

That does it.

I literally feel the control snap inside him.

His hand tightens hard enough against me to pull a gasp out of my throat while his forehead drops briefly against my shoulder like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Then suddenly he’s moving.

Dragging me deeper into the foam.

Away from the lights and the crowd while bubbles swirl thick around us and people dance blindly nearby completely unaware of what’s happening.

“Noir—”

“Come here, princess,” he mutters darkly.

I gasp as he suddenly drops to his knees, lower into the foam, pale hair already damp and messy beneath the flashing lights while his hands slide up my thighs possessively.

“Oh god—”

My voice cracks the second he hooks his fingers into the sides of my sheer pink panties and drags them aside slowly.

The look he gives me after that?

Sweet Jesus.

Grey eyes fixed between my thighs like he’s been starving for this.

Which feels deeply unfair considering I’m currently standing in a foam pit dressed like a glittery bad decision and somehow still pulling this kind of reaction out of him.

The foam swirls thick around us while bass pounds violently through the beach, people dancing blindly nearby completely oblivious to the fact I’m seconds away from losing my mind in the middle of this crowd.

Then Noir flattens his tongue against me in one slow drag.

And oh my fuck.

The contrast nearly kills me instantly.

Cold foam. Hot mouth.

The rough pressure of his tongue sliding through slick heat while his rings bite into my thighs hard enough to leave marks.

A broken sound catches in my throat before I can stop it.

Noir’s eyes flick up to mine immediately, pale hair falling messily across his forehead while foam clings to the sharp line of his jaw.

“Fuck, you taste so sweet,” he mutters roughly against my skin. “So fucking addictive.”

Well.

That does something catastrophic to my nervous system.

My fingers tangle instantly into his light hair, gripping hard enough to pull another rough sound out of him while the bass shakes violently beneath us.

“This is probably the worst decision I’ve ever made,” I breathe.