Page 55 of Rev

“You’ve seen how I am.”

“I also see how you are right now. You came all the way out here to check on me. That says something to me. Something big.”

“Maybe I didn’t just come to check on you.”

“What else, then?” I ask, gazing up at him.

Breathing him, willing him to kiss me, because I’m too scared to take the first step, but I’m enthralled by him, hypnotized by him, and I can admit to myself that I’ve never felt how I feel around him and I’m thrilled by how forbidden this feels.

“Somethin’ I shouldn’t fuckin’ do. I know better. You’re gonna regret it. Butfuck…” he snarls the word. “I can’t help it. You ain’t smart enough to stay away from me, and goddamn me, but I ain’t man enough to stay away from you.”

“Rev, what are you—”

I’m cut off by his mouth. A soft, delicate touch at first. A ghost of his lips, a tease. I gasp, and then he swallows my gasp, his kiss suddenly hard, abruptly savage. He knots a fist in my hair, tilting my head back and clamping my face to his. There’s no escape, no denying him the kiss. His other hand claws over my backside, and unlike earlier with the other man, I thrill to his touch. He uses that hand on my bottom to pull me closer, jamming me against him, grinding his hips against mine.

I feel his arousal growing—huge, hard.

My arousal is a wet hot gush between my thighs. I whimper into the kiss, into his mouth, and I lift up on my toes, opening my mouth for him. What a kiss—his mouth is furious, demanding, hungry, wild. His tongue slashes against mine, and his mouth moves, slipping against mine, twisting, turning, seeking new purchase, new angles.

I’ve never been kissed like this.

I’m on my toes, and I palm his nape and then run my hands over his scalp and the thick cushion of his hair, down over the stubble of his jaw and around his ear and over the stubble at the side of his head. My touch makes him snarl, and he twists in place, pinning me against the door.

He breaks the kiss.

I gasp, and pant. “Rev, my gosh.”

“Fuck, Myka.” His forehead touches mine, his chest heaving against mine. “Tell me to leave. Tell me to fuck off, right now. Please. For your own good.”

“No,” I whisper.

“Stupid fuckin’ girl,” he murmurs. “You shred my fuckin’ control, woman. Don’t you see that?”

I clasp the back of his head with one hand and curl my fist into his shirt with the other. “Do I seem afraid of that, to you?”

He just growls, head shaking against mine, rolling side to side. “Stupid, stupid, stupid girl.”

“I’m a grown woman, Rev. I was married for six years. I’m not some innocent virgin.”

This is true. But it’s also far from the total truth.

He plants his fists in the door beside my face. “You got no fuckin’ clue what you’re doing with me, Myka. Who I am. What I want, and how Itakeit. My world is not your world.”

“I left my world behind because I’m looking for a new one.” I run both hands up his chest. Trace my fingertips up behind his ears, palms then cupping his scalp.

He groans again at the gentle touch of my hands, a raw, ragged sound, head dropping, chest heaving. “Fuck.” He snags my wrists and pins them over my head. “Touch me like that, you turn me into a fuckin’ animal.”

He keeps my wrists crossed together and pinned overhead, and he takes my mouth, a rough kiss slashing over my lips. I gasp, and he eats the sound, takes more. His other hand curls into my work shirt, still tucked into my track shorts. Yanks it free. And then his big rough hand is on my waist, on my bare skin, setting me on fire. His hand is as rough as a cinder block, and the scratch of it on my tender flesh is tantalizing, wilding my blood, setting my sex on fire.

This hand curls around from my waist to the small of my back, and he keeps my hands pinned overhead and he kisses me with savage beauty, claiming my mouth, taking my kiss from me—and I give it eagerly. I don’t struggle against his hold. I find I quite like it. It scares me, and that excites me, because the way he’s protected me and shown concern for me so far makes me feel safe with him even as I’m scared witless of who he is,whathe is. He’s not wrong—I know I should run from him. But I just…can’t. Not only can I not run, I can’t stop myself from throwing myself at him.

Maybe I am foolish for this, but I’ve never taken any risks in my life. I’ve never felt anything like this, how he makes me feel, and maybe it’s going to condemn me to hell for being a wanton slut, but I’m not giving this up.

His hand slips under the waistband of my shorts, sliding against my skin, and his big rough hand cups my left buttock. I whimper at the wonder of this touch, glorying in the scratchy gentle power of his grip. Ache for him.

Kiss him back, taking a measure of the kiss for myself, drinking of his mouth and pressing my hips into his, lifting up on my toes.

He breaks the kiss and pulls away just enough to meet my eyes. He keeps my hands pinned overhead. His eyes, this close, are huge, dark, so close they’re almost one. His breathing is ragged, chest dragging in huge gusting breaths.