Page 37 of Overdose

Then he closes the last bit of distance, one hand sliding into my hair, the other cradling my jaw like he’s done it a thousand times. And then he kisses me.

Hard.

Hot.

Like his mouth already fucking knows mine.

He walks me backward, step by step, until the back of my knees hit the bed and I fall onto it.

Oh fuck. You were wrong, Blair. He definitely wants to fuck you.

He climbs over me, slow and sure, as his mouth brushes over my collarbone, trailing down my body, leaving a hot path in its wake. My breath catches, stuck somewhere between panic and anticipation.

“This isn’t what I expected when you said you wanted to make sure my room was safe,” I whisper, breathless but laced with sarcasm, trying to sound like I still have an ounce of control. I don’t.

His grin darkens as his palm presses between my thighs.

“No?” His voice dips lower, hungrier. “So you don’t want this?” His hand slides down, fingers trailing over the soaked fabric between my legs, making me flinch. “Tell me to stop then, little relapse.”

His mouth grazes my jaw, then my neck, then down lower.

“Lie to me,” he murmurs. “I like it so much better when you lie.”

I don’t lie.

I don’t say a damn thing.

Because Ican’t.

He peels my shorts and panties down in one slow motion, like he’s unwrapping something he’s craved for weeks. His dark eyes stay locked on mine while he drops to his knees.

His tongue swipes over me once, slow, deliberate, and Ifeelit. The cold flick of his tongue ring against my clit, sharp and unexpected.

My whole body jolts.

Oh fuck.

He doesn’t stop, just dives in like he’s starving. Tongue and lips working in brutal sync, and that piercing? Itdrivesme insane. Flicking, rubbing, catching just right every time he moves. He sucks and licks like he’s got something to prove, like he wants to brand me from the inside out.

My breath shatters into gasps, thighs trembling against his shoulders, hips jerking up without permission.

That ring slides against me again, and I swear I see stars.

His fingers trail lower, slow and deliberate, until they find the soaked heat between my thighs.

“Fuck,” he mutters, voice gravel-thick with lust. “You’re dripping.”

I flinch when his fingertip grazes me, sensitive as hell, every nerve on high alert.

“So fuckin’ sweet, little relapse,” he murmurs, kissing along the inside of my thigh. “Exactly how I like it. All that spice up top, soft and sweet as sin where it counts.”

Oh, Jesus.

I don’t answer. My brain isn’t working. My sarcasm isn’t working. All I can do is bite down on the inside of my cheek and try to act like I’m not one flick away from turning into a puddle.

His mouth presses to my center again—one hot, sinful kiss—and then his tongue parts me as his finger pushes in.

Just one.