Page 113 of Save Your Breath

A heated promise punctuated with a tightened grip.

A sweet surrender underlined with a longing sigh.

One word, riding on a breath of tentative release.

“Yes.”

Give In To Me

Mia

“Yes.”

How that word reverberated through me.

How it echoed off every beaten, battered wall I was tired of holding up.

How it filled me with buzzing, palpable anticipation.

And no sooner than it had escaped my lips, it was silenced by his.

He angled his mouth over mine, sure and swift, both of us inhaling at the contact. I gave into him with that breath, and he seemed to claim me with his.

This wasn’t a kiss for the sake of a photograph. This wasn’t a sweet, staged caress for the paparazzi.

This was carnal.

This was a hand, warm and strong where it gripped my neck and pulled me into him. It was a mouth so demanding and dominant I knew I’d never really been kissed by Aleks before — not like this. It was a guttural groan from his throat that elicited a desperate whimper from my own when our tongues touched.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

It was surrender and assassination in tandem.

He wanted to ruin me.

I was desperate to be ruined.

And I climbed into his lap with any last shred of apprehension blowing away in the hurricane wind.

“Fuck, Mia,” he growled into my mouth, his tongue sweeping over mine as I straddled his thighs. “Say it again. Tell me you want this.”

“I want this,” I promised, rolling against him, grinding myself along the thick bulge straining through his joggers as his hands clamped down on my hips. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to stop me or pull me down harder, his own hips bucking up to meet mine in an eager thrust.

“Tell me you want me to destroy you.”

“Yes.”

“Tell me I can do anything I want.”

“I’m yours.”

And I was. I always had been. And I didn’t care anymore if it was all a charade, if there was an ending in sight, if one day I’d be sobbing in my home studio writing songs about what could have been.

I only cared about tonight.

He kissed me hard, hands framing my face, fingers curling into what was left of my disheveled braid. He nipped at my bottom lip as he deftly unfastened the hair tie, tossing it aside and running his fingers through the freed strands. I moaned at the feel of it, of his large, adept hands, his arms encasing me, his thighs spreading wider so that I had no choice but to do the same.