Page 48 of Kiss Me Like I Didn't Kill You

I step closer, until my chest presses against her back. She draws in a breath.

I lower my head to the crook of her neck and inhale deeply, her perfume flooding me.

I make a mental note to buy the company that makes it.

I’ll see to it no one else ever buys it, no other woman will ever be allowed to smell this way.

She starts moving again, hips swaying, and my hand slides to her stomach.

I drag her back against me, pressing the hard line of my arousal to her arse.

My teeth graze her ear, biting lightly, and a low groan escapes before I can stop it.

Then she slips forward. I don’t see it coming. My hand falls away.

She weaves through the bodies and disappears, slipping into the trees beyond.

I follow without a thought. My boots grind over the ground. She glances over her shoulder, and quickens her pace.

I let a smirk tug at my mouth, veer off the track, and cut her off. She collides with me head on.

A startled sound breaks from her lips. Her hand flies to her chest. When she realises it’s me, her shoulders loosen.

Mistake.

There’s no one more dangerous to her in these woods than me.

“Arlo…” My name slips from her lips like she can’t help it.

I step forward. She steps back. Again, and again, until her spine meets the bark of a tree. I catch her face in my hand, tilt her chin up, force her eyes on mine.

“I just needed a moment to compose myself,” she whispers.

A smirk twists my mouth. So she is shaken. Good.

“What the hell are you wearing?” I bite out instead.

Her lips part, her breathing uneven. “A dress.”

“Too short.”

She lifts her chin. “It’s only a dress, Arlo.”

She tries to appear irritated, but the look in her eyes gives her away, need threaded through the glare.

The fury in me knots with want, raw and consuming. I shove my mask up off my face, and before reason can interfere, I’m on her, my mouth crashing into hers, my hand closing around her throat as I drag her in, closer… closer, until I’m certain she won’t ever breathe without me again.

The kiss is savage.

Possessive.

My tongue claims hers, my other hand grips her arse hard enough to mark her.

She moans into me, the sound spurring me further. She tries to murmur something, maybe a protest, but I crush it with another kiss, harsher, hungrier, until there’s nothing left but heat and need between us.

My hand slides under her dress, finding lace.

It’s in my way.