Burn Down the Night (Everything I Left Unsaid #3)- Molly O'Keefe Page 0,94
to enough. I pushed back hard against him, until he gave me something in return. A sigh. A muffled “damn.”
His hand on my thigh dug into my skin, the pleasure/pain of a harder touch just the beginning of what I wanted. His hand slipped to the inside of my thigh, pushing up my skirt until his thumb was up against the wet crotch of my panties.
On his shoulder, I turned my head away from his face. So he couldn’t see me, maybe. I don’t know.
Again, his hand stopped, touching me but nothing else. A feather light touch more agonizing than anything. I curled my hips forward and then back, seeking out some friction but again. Nothing.
“Max,” I groaned.
“Turn around.”
“No. Just—”
He grabbed me by the shoulder and turned me to face him. I reached forward to put my arms around his neck, but he held me back.
Finally, sensing that was what he wanted, I looked at him with a scowl.
“There you are.” He smirked and I wanted to smack him. He was fucking this up. He pulled me toward him slowly, and finally he was kissing me.
His beard prickled and his lips were chapped. Dry. But soft. His kiss was soft, too.
This was all wrong.
I did not want careful.
I kissed him harder, opened my mouth against his and licked at those chapped lips. I pulled that decadent lower lip into my mouth and bit at it with my teeth. I pulled and groaned, arching up into his body as best I could considering he was literally holding me away from him.
But then his mouth opened and he was drawing me in. Sucking me in. Biting me and kissing me with his whole mouth. It was hard and it hurt just a little, but a woman didn’t make out with an MC president without wanting to be hurt.
I strained against his hands, wanting to be against him. Wanting to feel how hard he was. I reached out and put my hand against the fly of his jeans and the wide stiff cock beneath it. My hand pressed flat against it, squeezing him between my touch and the hard muscles of his abs. He pushed into me, seeking more and I smiled into his mouth.
Between my legs I was so wet. So hot.
“Come on,” I said, pulling at the button of his jeans.
“Hold on.”
“Why?”
He leaned back from me and I caught the look in his eyes before he could shutter it.
Pity. Or something far too close to it. Sympathy maybe?
Oh, fuck no.
I smacked him. Across the face with the flat of my hand, I smacked him as hard as I could. Hard enough that his head snapped back. His lip must have caught on his tooth because he wiped his mouth with his thumb and it came away bloody.
I stood there panting, shaking. So on the edge of myself I couldn’t feel anything anymore. Not fear or desire.
“Don’t fuck me like you’re some soldier going off to war.” I snarled at him.
“You want me to fuck you like you are the war.”
Yes. Exactly. I didn’t have to say it. His blue eyes blazed and he stepped forward and I held my ground, not moving until he was pressed up tightly against me.
“Remember,” he whispered. “When this is all done—you asked for it.”
Literally.
And then he kissed me. He kissed me like I needed to be kissed. Like we were both fighting for the same air. The same space. Like we were each on fire and wanted to burn the other down, too.
He caught my hair in his big giant fists, pulling it until it hurt. I gasped, tears stinging my eyes. And I put my hands under his shirt, slipping them up over all that smooth, silky skin until I had his shoulders in my palms and dug my nails in until he hissed.
“Fuck you,” he gasped.
“Now you get it.”
With his arms around my waist, he lifted me, walking me backward until we hit a wall. Then he turned around and held me up, squeezed between the wall and his weight. His chest and the slow push of his hips. I arched forward against him, reaching down to yank up my skirt, until it was the damp silk of my underwear pushed up against the ridge of his cock.
He was kissing me so dirty. So wet and wild and fierce. I tasted the blood on his lips and sucked more onto my tongue. He growled and bit my lip until both of us tasted