Chapter 16 Taylen #2
His certainty should make me angry, should make me want to prove him wrong. Instead, it sends heat pooling low in my stomach, making my skin prickle with awareness. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”
“No.” He shakes his head slightly, close enough that I can see his pupils dilate. “I’m only sure of this thing that’s been burning hotter than a wildfire in the summer. Of the way you look at me when you think no one’s watching.”
The words hang between us. “And how exactly do I look at you?”
His smile turns dangerous. “Like you want to fuck me or kill me. Sometimes both at once.”
“Maybe I do,” I say, like it’s a dare. “Maybe that’s the problem.”
His breath catches slightly, the only indication that my words affect him. “The only problem,” he says carefully, “is that we’ve spent years running from something we both want. And I’m tired of running.”
The declaration lands like a challenge and a confession. We stand in his kitchen, breathing the same air, both of us swaying slightly with the gravity of what’s building between us. Every heartbeat feels like a countdown to something inevitable, something years in the making.
“Prove it,” I challenge, my voice rough with need and fear. “Prove you’re done running.”
His eyes darken at the words, pupils blown wide with want that matches my own. The moment stretches between us like a wire pulled too tight, threatening to snap at any second. When he speaks, his voice carries edges sharp enough to cut. “Make me.”
The space between us vanishes as we move together, my hands finding his hair while he grips my hips with bruising force. Unlike the first two, this kiss is all teeth and tongue and years of wanting compressed into a single point of contact.
Bastian’s mouth opens against mine immediately, hot and demanding as his hands slide beneath my shirt. The touch of skin on skin sends electricity through my system, making me arch closer.
I use the grip on his hair to adjust the angle of our kiss. He makes a low sound in his throat, a growled surrender that goes straight to my core. The vibration of it travels through every point where our bodies connect, turning want into desperate need.
“This what you wanted?” I manage between kisses, the words coming out more breathless than challenging. “This why you gave me that key?”
His answer comes in the form of teeth against my bottom lip, the slight pain shooting straight to my groin. Then his mouth travels lower, finding the sensitive spot below my ear that makes my knees threaten to buckle. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he murmurs against my skin.
The admission breaks something loose in my chest. My hands move to his shoulders, pushing him back until he hits the counter.
The new position lets me press my thigh between his legs, drawing a groan that sounds like victory.
“Show me,” I demand, rolling my hips to create friction that makes us both gasp. “Prove it.”
In one fluid motion, he reverses our positions, lifting me onto the counter with a strength that sends heat flooding through my system. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively as his mouth reclaims mine, the new angle allowing him to control the kiss completely.
Hands fumble with buttons, each new inch of exposed skin demanding immediate attention. My shirt lands somewhere behind us, followed quickly by his.
I gasp when I see the J tattooed on his chest, but I don't have a chance to ask about it before he's on me again.
“Bedroom,” Bastian growls against my neck, but makes no move to release me. His hands map my back, my sides, my chest. Each point of contact is a brand against my skin, marking me as his in ways I’ve spent years pretending I haven’t wanted but couldn’t deny.
“Then move,” I challenge, but my body betrays me by pulling him closer. My fingers trace the muscles of his shoulders, learning textures and patterns I’ve only admired from a distance. He feels better than any fantasy. Solid and warm and perfectly real against me.
The journey to his bedroom happens in stages, neither of us willing to break contact for long.
Boots and socks disappear somewhere in the hallway.
My back finds the wall beside his door as his mouth works its way down my throat, drawing sounds I barely recognize as my own.
His hands settle on my hips again, thumbs stroking bare skin just above my waistband in maddening circles.
“Still think I’m running?” he asks against my collarbone, the words vibrating through my chest. Before I can answer, his teeth find sensitive flesh, marking me. The thought that I’ll see the bruise there in the morning sends fresh heat through my system, making me arch into the contact.
“Shut up,” I manage, pulling his mouth back to mine. The kiss turns deeper, slower, heavier. His hands slide lower, cupping my ass and pulling me tight against him. The increased contact draws moans from both our throats, the sounds mixing together like harmony.
We stumble through his doorway until the back of my knees hit his mattress, but before I can fall, he spins us around. My body covers his as we land together.
“God, look at you,” he breathes, hands roaming my chest and tracing my tattoos with reverent attention.
The praise makes me flush, but before I can deflect, he flips us again so I’m under him and his mouth is following the path of his fingers.
My hands fist in his sheets as he works his way down my body.
His fingers find my zipper, the sound loud in the room’s heated air. I lift my hips to help him remove the last barriers between us, then his mouth is on my cock, hot and perfect and exactly what I need.
“Bastian,” I gasp, the name carrying years of desire compressed into those two syllables.
His response is to take me deeper, drawing sounds from my throat that would embarrass me if I had any capacity for shame left.
My fingers find his hair again, the silky strands tangling around my grip as pleasure builds like lightning in my blood.