Page 35 of Poison Touch (Monarch Vipers #1)

EDGE

Her blue eyes, almost black in the near darkness, are still locked on mine.

There’s no escaping her penetrating glare and the heat stirring within it.

Nothing could tear me away. She reaches for her helmet, but I grab it first, needing anything to tether her to me, even for this brief moment. I’m not ready to let her go yet.

She drops her hand, not giving in to my childish antics. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Edge.”

“I’m not playing.” I hold her helmet just out of her reach as I take another step closer to her.

She studies me, likely not sure if I’m fucking with her or not. I wish to hell I was and that I didn’t give a fuck. But without even trying, this girl has found a way to slip under my radar and burrow beneath my skin.

Her motorcycle is leaning toward me on its kickstand.

Her right leg is bent, with her foot resting on the pedal.

The other foot, the one closest to me, is settled on the ground.

As hard as she tries to keep herself closed off from me, I don’t believe she intentionally opened her legs as an offering to me.

It’s simply a habit. It doesn’t matter. I can’t help but take something I crave that’s so close.

So, without thinking, I move into that void between her leg and the engine.

The only evidence of annoyance, or maybe uncertainty, is the jerky inhale of her next breath.

I don’t give her a chance to do or say anything before I slide my hand onto her leg just above her knee.

Ninja doesn’t move. Her skin is chilled and slightly slick with sweat.

I nudge her leg, spreading it farther to nestle in the small space closer to her.

There’s nowhere for her to go without a fight.

Goosebumps race along her leg. She doesn’t jerk away or push my hand off. She only continues to stare at me with that steely, unrelenting glare, daring me to move farther up her thigh. Wanting more, as I always do with her, I can’t help but push those limits.

I unhurriedly slide my hand up her bare leg.

My thumb grazes her inner thigh. Her eyes are like liquid pools filled with equal amounts of warning and wanting.

I toss her helmet onto the grass behind me.

The gradual speed my hand moves toward her sweet spot is agonizing.

Just as I reach the edge of her extremely short shorts, she places her hand over mine.

The worn white tape, still wrapped around her hand, scrapes the tops of my knuckles.

It reminds me that I’m not dealing with just any girl.

I trap her pinky finger under my thumb, holding her hand there with mine, and lean into her. My mouth waters as if preparing to taste a decadent dessert.

Finally, she looks away, down to her hand resting on mine, dangerously close to her sex. “You wanted to check on me. You can see that I’m fine, so I think you should go now.”

I ignore her as I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger, guiding her face to look back at me. “Does fighting get you wet, Ninja?”

Her hand twitches over mine. But still, there’s no struggle from her. It’s as if she’s been spellbound to remain captivated and calm for me. I lean in and lightly press a kiss to the corner of her full, pouty lips.

“I bet it does,” I say against her mouth. I release my hold on her chin. My hand glides down the length of her neck. The beating of her pulse thumps wildly under my fingers. As I continue down to her chest, her breath picks up the pace.

She consciously tries to slow them, dragging in deeper and longer streams of air.

The effort is noticeable only because I’m doing the same to control my breathing, a technique we were both taught to use when fighting.

The deeper she inhales, the higher her breasts rise.

I slide my gaze down, appreciating the sight of the smooth swells of her creamy skin.

Unable to stop myself, I pause just long enough to graze my thumb over the edge of her sports bra and bare skin.

Fuuuck.

I should have kept my eyes on hers and my hand moving.

When I’m with her, it’s a constant battle of wanting to take as much as I can, as much as she’ll allow, and wanting to take my time, soaking up every second and letting myself drown in every touch, every movement, no matter how small or insignificant.

I don’t want to miss or forget a fucking thing when we’re together.

I need these memories because the moment I get home, I’ll rewind the feel of her, remember the exact way she looked at me, as I grip my hard cock in my hand and imagine it’s her hand wrapped around it.

When I look back at her face, her eyes are still fixed on mine. I move my hand between her breasts, grazing her erect nipples with my knuckles. Her hand tightens on mine as she lets out a small gasp.

The languid movements torture my dick as it hardens against my jeans.

I press my mouth to hers. Like the first time in the lifeguard stand, she doesn’t kiss me back. I take her bottom lip between my teeth and bite hard enough to evoke a small whimper. The sound is like a siren pulling me under the waves, deeper and deeper, into her dangerous embrace.

Her body tenses as if remembering that she should be hating my hands and mouth and teeth on her.

I sense with every fiber of her being, she wants to—and should—push me away, but like mine, her body is running the show, orchestrating an all-consuming and intoxicating dance that can only end up badly for both of us.

The torments and suffering she’s endured must make it hard for her to trust. And I’m the last person she would want.

So, in the end, I’m no fool to think there’s a happily ever after waiting.

There is no happy ending for people like us.

I just need a taste of her before she realizes who and what I am.

My hand strolls lower, sliding across her bare stomach and resting on her ribs. Despite the heat emanating from her, her skin remains cool. She opens her mouth just enough for the tip of her tongue to ease out and lick the spot where I bit. Each second that passes intensifies my craving for her.

“Edge.” Her voice is filled with as much hate as it is fueled by pure lust.

Again, my name. Still liking the sound of it on her lips. “Hmm?” The simple word vibrates against her mouth.

“Why me?”

I don’t back away from her, keeping my mouth only a breath away from hers. There are as many answers to that question as there are none. I simply shake my head. The tips of our noses rub together. “I can’t explain it.”

Most girls would push me to keep going faster . Unlike most girls, she isn’t and doesn’t.

Too far in to stop now, I try to kiss her again. Her lips hesitantly move against mine. Fucking finally . Using what little restraint I have, I refrain from devouring her, afraid of scaring her off. The kiss remains light and innocent.

Innocent is not a word I want to use when she’s in my grasp like this. I highly doubt she’s a virgin, but she’s far from being the type to give herself over to just any guy—especially me. But all I want to do is dirty her up with my hands and mouth, just for me, until I’m the only one she begs for.

I trace my hand back up through the valley of her chest, to her shoulder, pushing her hair away to reveal the sensitive skin of her neck.

Resting my hand on the back of her neck, I gently tilt her head, trailing my mouth from her lips to kiss the curve at the base of her neck, letting my warm breath fan across the delicate skin as I follow the line of her collarbone up to her ear and push her hair off her shoulder.

Her pulse is racing. I lick the sensitive skin, tasting salt and remnants of her perfume.

My other hand presses more firmly into her inner thigh, my fingers threatening to leave marks.

The moment is going fucking perfect until Ninja wraps her fingers around mine, stopping my hand from furthering its progression to her pussy. “Is this the way Brielle likes you to touch her?”

The question fucking freezes me in place. I lift my head from her neck but keep my lips desperately close to hers. “I don’t give a shit about Brielle,” I breathe out onto her lips. The blood streaming through my veins picks up speed but not for the reason I aim for.

She moves our hands off her inner thigh, then releases mine. “It didn’t look like that today after she fucked up my bike, or in the cafeteria, or when you had her bent over the desk.”

Her tone is so calm, she could as easily be telling me what she’s planning to eat for dinner.

Her lack of emotion is curious, and I’m unsure what to make of it.

I know this physical attraction between us isn’t just one-sided.

I feel her nerves hum every time we’re in the same vicinity of each other.

I don’t defend or deny what she’s saying.

I would be even more of a prick if I did, because that’s exactly what she saw each time. At least that’s what it looked like.

But Ninja is far from being an idiot or unperceptive. She knows the truth... Brielle is convenient, and this is Ninja’s way of saving herself from falling too deep into this moment.

Instead of releasing my gentle grasp from around her neck, I tighten it. “You’re as stubborn as I am.” I crush my lips against hers, then pull back just as fast, letting my hand slide down the length of her back before falling away completely.

She rubs the back of her hand over her mouth. A sickly sweet yet seductive smile is left in its wake. “It’s not a matter of being stubborn. I won’t ever play anyone’s second.” Her fierce gaze drops from mine. She turns the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

Relenting for now, I pick up her helmet and then hold it out to her.

She slowly takes it, likely unsure if I’m playing with her or not.

I can’t fucking blame her, considering what Brielle did to her motorcycle, then I let the bitch cozy up to me right in front of Ninja and I didn’t say a fucking word like I didn’t give a shit.

I did give a shit. But being the asshole that I am, I wanted to see what my little Ninja was going to do to retaliate. She didn’t disappoint.

She puts on her helmet, the visor still raised. “Bye, Edge.” She puts the bike into gear and drives away, leaving me to watch her go.

That time, I don’t like my name on her lips.

I shove my hands into my pockets, wishing things were different.

Kinsley West is proving to be more challenging to penetrate than I thought.

She’s stubborn as fuck and doesn’t take shit from anyone, and she can also kick some serious ass.

I watched her train for the past two hours through the large storefront windows.

What I wouldn’t give not only to fuck her into the next century but also to go hand-to-hand with her on the mat.

I run my fingers through my hair. Fuck me to hell.

I don’t think she could take me, but that’s only because I have my size going for me.

But fuck, if she wouldn’t give me a run for my money and make it fun as hell.

Most of her moves are old school, her weapon skills are like nothing I’ve seen before, and her focus is unwavering.

I knew who she was the moment I confronted her on her first day at Monarch.

But if I didn’t, after I crept up on her tonight and studied her moves, as well as admired the lines of her body when she delivered each strike with deliberate precision, I would have known right away.

Only one other fighter I know fought like that, and he’s dead.

She’s been trained by one of the best, and her skills are fire on so many levels. I have no doubt she could kick most of the fighters’ asses I know. Even with their cunning ways, her skills would no doubt have them on their knees, begging for mercy and tapping out.

Her father didn’t deserve what he got. It kills me every time I look into those sad blue eyes and see her pain shining through them like a beacon.

She thinks it’s invisible, but she can no more hide her anguish than I can hide my regret for what happened that night.

My little Ninja just hasn’t figured that out yet.