Page 18 of His to Control
His lips crash into mine, hungry and demanding. My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even as my mind screams about one piece of crucial evidence: the USB drive in my bag. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I moan, giving as good as I get.
This isn’t submission—it’s a battle. Each stroke of his tongue, each bite of his teeth is matched with equal fervor. I drag my nails down his chest, feeling him shudder. His grip tightens in my hair, angling my head to deepen the kiss.
The desk digs into my back as he presses closer, but the discomfort only adds to the fire burning through my veins. I hook my leg around his hip, using the leverage to grind against him. He groans into my mouth, his free hand sliding down to grip my thigh.
The kiss turns brutal, eight years of tension exploding between us. I bite his lower lip, and his hips buck against mine. The power struggle continues—each touch, each movement, a battle for dominance neither of us will concede.
The world narrows to the feel of Remy’s lips against mine, his tongue dominating every inch of my mouth. I drink him in, desperate for this addictive taste I’ve tried so hard to forget.
His grip tightens in my hair, sending electric shocks down my spine. I respond in kind, raking my nails across his scalp, pulling him impossibly closer. The parallels aren’t lost on me—the fierceness, the need to claim, to mark… it’s a dance we’ve always danced, whether we acknowledged it or not.
The kiss turns feral, teeth and tongues clashing in a battle neither of us intends to lose. My hands roam across the muscular planes of his back, relearning the contours I’ve spent eight years trying to erase from my mind. He matches me stroke for stroke, each movement driving us higher, faster.
My thigh presses against the growing bulge in his pants, and he curses into my mouth, grinding his hips in frustration that we’re still clothed, still standing. I mirror his motion, needing the friction even as it sends sparks of pleasure-pain through my core.
Somehow, we end up pressed against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist. The cool plaster contrasts sharply with the heat radiating from his body. He pins me in place with the weight of his hips, letting me feel exactly how much he wants this.
A distant part of my mind cheers at his loss of control, at the evidence that I still affect him. But right now, that part is drowned out by the overwhelming need coiling low in my belly.
Remy’s hands slide beneath my shirt, calloused palms igniting my skin as he rasps against my lips, “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
“This is just a kiss,” I pant, barely recognizing my own voice.
“It’s never just a kiss with us.” He bites my earlobe, sending a shiver down my spine. “You know that.”
“Why now?” I thread my fingers through his hair, holding him against me.
He lifts his head, his dark eyes hooded. “Because now, you need me.”
His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I shove against his chest, breaking free from his hold. My feet hit the ground, but the wall still supports my weight as I struggle to steady my breathing.
“Need you?” The words come out raspy, my voice betraying me. “I needed security, not whatever this is.”
Remy doesn’t step back, his presence overwhelming my senses. His hand remains at my waist, fingers flexing against my hip. “Your body says otherwise.”
“My body’s not in charge.” I meet his gaze, ignoring how my skin burns where he touches me. “And neither are you.”
“No?” His thumb traces slow circles on my hip. “Then why are you trembling?”
I grab his wrist, intending to push him away. Instead, my fingers curl around his warm skin, neither pulling nor pushing. “Anger does that to people.”
“Anger?” His eyes drop to my lips, still swollen from his kiss. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“What would you call breaking my own rules?”
“I’d call it inevitable.” His voice drops lower, dangerous. “You set rules you know you can’t keep. You’re too smart to think those rules would last.”
“They were lasting fine until—”
“Until what?” His fingers trail down my neck. “Until I called your bluff?”
I suppress a shiver. “Until you decided to make this complicated.”
“Sweetheart,” he leans closer, his breath fanning across my lips, “this was complicated the moment you made that call.”
“It’s only complicated because you’re making it that way.” But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. My body hums with awareness of him, every nerve ending alive and screaming for his touch.
“Am I?” His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Or are you the one playing games?”