Page 120 of The Wicked

“Fuck…” He breathed. “You’re a bad influence, Zahra.”

“So I’ve been to—”

Warmth covered my lips; a soft, tentative, sweet heat that made my senses tingle in a wave to suck all the air from my lungs. My heartbeat staggered a millisecond, like a glitch—a glitch caused by the firm press of his lips to mine.

It was embarrassing how fast I melted. Kisses meant nothing to me. But this—fuck—a kiss had never abruptly stolen my breath—no, not stolen, it had sucked it out of me.

Almost like he had been testing the waters, he removed his lips from mine, his unsure gaze flickering to mine.

I shamelessly took in oxygen like I was starved for it, the taste from his lips supplying me with a dazed edge.

That’s not enough.

I gripped his shirt, pulling his body back to mine as I joined our lips together again.

My stomach flipped at how plush, warm, and perfect his lips were, and the moment he parted them, I wanted a taste so desperately that I darted my tongue into his mouth, seeking his, which carefully came to brush and curl around mine.

A soft moan left my throat at the same time a groan vibrated from his chest.

Fuck me—kissing this mouth was an addiction waiting to happen.

Our tongues rubbed against each other for a bit before it materialized into a kiss that felt so intimate and exquisite.

He tasted like the beer he had drunk: hot, mature, and intoxicating. My senses, aside from the one between my legs, head, and the fiery feeling peppering my skin, were nonexistent.

His hand on my waist pulled, urging me to move against him, and I did, grinding on his erection and creating hot friction that sent shivers up my spine and compelled goosebumps on my skin.

His hips moved, and I moaned at the added pressure. This was not enough; I wanted to feel him for real.

God, I was so wet, so horny for a man who wanted to slit my fucking throat open. This was sick. I was sick. But fuck it. I didn’t want to be healthy if this was what sickness felt like.

I rubbed against him, his hand gripping my waist.

We broke away from the kiss, and I took a small breath before tilting my head to the other side, connecting our lips again while we dry humped each other.

Body grinding against body, chasing a high that would take us over and under the edge.

I increased my pace, breaking our kiss and thriving on the feverish breath he let out, his lips parted in ecstasy and lust as his hand lowered to my ass, trying to control my movement.

“My pace,” he gritted out, holding firm on the back of my neck.

“No…mypace,” I countered.

His hard stare held mine, and I felt a sharp pain on my ass.

He fucking pinched me, and the pain had me soaking wet for him.

“My fucking pace,” he repeated, hand back to my waist, stopping my movement.

I gave in.

We went at his pace; he controlled my hips, and my eyes rolled when he ground his erection into my heat. My nightgown rode up altogether.

I didn’t know someone could be good at dry humping. What the fuck was this… “Fuck…” I breathed in a moan, throwing my head back at the sensations hitting me.

I’d never wanted to come so bad. I knew the pill could get you horny, yes… but I didn’t think it could make you feel this good.

Elio grunted deep in his chest as he cursed, a breathy moan escaping him afterward.