Chapter 8
Kimmie
I shouldn’t kiss him. My brain knows this, but my body doesn’t care. Maybe it’s the flu making me reckless, or maybe it’s the way he smells—God, he smells so damn good! It’s stronger now, more intoxicating than when I first met him.
He’s just trying to help me. That, at least, I know is genuine. But when he wraps me in the robe and looks at me with those dark, intense eyes, something inside me snaps. I have to touch him—taste him.
His soaked shirt presses against the exposed V of skin where the edges of my robe don’t come together.
The heat of him makes the wet silk feel molten.
It clings to my skin, branding me. My hands slide up his neck.
I thread my fingers through the short hair at his nape.
He’s perfectly still for a heartbeat, and then his mouth claims mine.
His lips are soft, softer than I expected from someone so hard. They move against mine with gentle pressure, like he’s savoring the moment. Like we have all the time in the world. His scent surrounds me. His tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, and I open, inviting him deeper.
He tastes like good whiskey, sharp and smooth at the same time. His tongue sweeps across the roof of my mouth, exploring, claiming. He’s not gentle anymore—this isn’t a kiss, it’s a conquest. And this battle with him I’m happy to lose.
My arms tighten around his neck to pull him closer. He braces one hand beside me on the bed. The new angle lets him deepen the kiss. His other hand slides up to cup my cheek, holding me in place—as if I would ever try to get away from this.
A low growl rumbles in his chest making it vibrate against my breasts. My nipples go tight and achy. His thumb brushes over my cheekbone, then down to trace the line of my throat.
His teeth nip at my bottom lip, sending a jolt of sensation straight to my clit.
I feel a gush, hot and wet between my legs.
I moan, and he swallows the sound. Then he’s moving again, his mouth trailing down my jaw, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.
When he reaches the spot where my pulse flutters wildly, he pauses.
I can feel his breath against my skin as his lips hover just above my throat.
My legs are restless beneath him. Instinctively, I part them further, opening the robe. There’s nothing between us but the wet fabric at his crotch. I can feel how hard he is—how hot. I grind up against him.
“Gabriel,” I whisper. I don’t know if I mean stop or go. My brain flashes caution lights, but my body couldn’t care less. It wants his mouth on me, his hands, his everything. Now.
He grunts as he moves his hard cock against me again so I can feel his length—the hard swell of the knot at its base. Twice. Three times. So close. A few more strokes like that, and I’ll come.
But he doesn’t keep going. Instead, he pulls back, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his breathing is uneven. “Kimmie.” The way he says my name is a caress, a promise, and a threat all in one.
He pulls back abruptly, breaking contact.
His eyes meet mine, and something in them makes me quiver.
Hunger. Desire. Need. All tangled together into something primal and fierce.
But underneath, I see a flicker of doubt, a hint of regret.
It’s gone before I can be sure, replaced by cool control.
He stands and takes a deep, steadying breath. “You should rest.”
I watch as he walks to the door, and have to stop myself from begging him to stay. He hesitates at the threshold before looking back over his shoulder. Our eyes meet one last time. Then he’s gone.
I collapse against the pillows. I should feel ashamed or embarrassed.
I should feel something that shows I have a brain in my head.
But all I can think about is how good his mouth felt, how his body pressed against me, and how much I need more.
My lips tingle from his stubble, and my thighs are slick with need.
I shouldn’t have kissed him, but I did. And if I have a chance, I’ll do it again.