Chapter 11
POV: Marina
The touch of Brennan’s lips on mine sent sparks through my entire body—electric, immediate, devastating.
His mouth was soft, velvet, delicious. Familiar in a way that felt terrifying and intoxicating at the same time.
For the first two seconds, he didn’t move.
He just stayed there, lips against mine, stunned.
Like I’d knocked the air out of him.
Panic crawled up my spine.
I almost pulled back. Almost regretted everything.
Then his hands came up.
He framed my face, palms warm, fingers firm, tilting my head back just enough to take control. His tongue swept into my mouth without hesitation, without permission, like he’d made a decision and the world would simply have to deal with it.
He didn’t come to play.
And my body answered him before my mind could catch up.
I melted under his mouth, letting him take over completely. He deepened the kiss, slow at first, then hungry, like he’d been starving and I was the only thing that could fix it. My hands curled into his shirt, and the bar, the music, the world faded into noise.
He kissed me until I was breathless.
And he didn’t stop.
One hand slid to my neck, thumb resting just under my jaw, not squeezing—just there, possessive, anchoring me. The other found my waist, pulling me forward until he stood between my legs, close enough that I could feel the heat of him through fabric and adrenaline.
I didn’t care.
Our tongues moved together like we’d never stopped, like we’d done this a thousand times and my body had memorized him. It felt like coming home to something I hadn’t realized I’d been missing this much.
He pulled back just enough to murmur against my mouth, voice low and dangerous.
“Careful, Doctor. You’ve spent weeks giving me speeches about professionalism.”
A faint, wicked smile brushed his lips. “Now you’re kissing me in a bar like you own me.”
His thumb traced my jaw, his breath warm against my skin.
“And you do this in public,” he added softly, “I’m not letting you pretend you didn’t mean it.”
Then he kissed me again—harder, deeper, like he was staking a claim. My pulse exploded. My mind emptied. I tasted whiskey and him and every regret I didn’t care about anymore.
It was raw and dizzying and terrifying in the best way.
He was filling holes in me I hadn’t known were there.
When he finally pulled back, I was gasping, my lips swollen, my hands shaking.
The only thing I could manage was a breathless whisper, “Shut up and take me out of here.”
His eyes darkened, and that slow, lethal smile appeared.
“Yes, Dr. Marina,” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “Let’s go.”
He took my hand.
And we walked out together.
Brennan didn’t say a word until we were inside his car.
He opened the door for me, the gentleman mask sliding back into place like muscle memory. I climbed in before I could talk myself out of it, before reason had the chance to catch up with desire.
The moment he shut his door, his hands were on me again.
He framed my face and kissed me—fresh, raw, deliberate. He bit my lower lip like he wanted to punish me for starting this and reward me for it at the same time. For a second, my mind emptied, replaced by sensation and heat and him.
“Relax,” he murmured against my mouth, like it was a command, not advice.
Then he pulled away and started the engine like he hadn’t just wrecked me with his mouth.
I sat back, trying to breathe, trying to think. He pulled out of the parking lot, city lights streaking past the windshield.
And then his hand landed on my thigh.
Warm. Heavy. Possessive.
He traced slow circles, maddeningly casual, eyes on the road like he wasn’t destroying my self-control inch by inch. His hand drifted higher, higher, like he was testing how far I’d let him go without saying a word.
I opened my mouth to warn him.
“Brennan,” It came out as a plea.
“Yes?” he asked quietly, fingers still moving. “You were saying something, Doctor?”
I swallowed. Grabbed his wrist—not to stop him, just to anchor myself.
His thumb brushed over me through the thin fabric, slipping from my wetness and my entire body lit up. I closed my eyes, breath hitching. Pleasure building.
He exhaled a quiet laugh, dark and satisfied.
“God, you’re so responsive,” he murmured. “And you still pretend you’re in control.”
I shot him a look that probably wasn’t convincing.
He kept going. Now his fingers found the hem os my panties, brushing aside, making me bare for his hand. And he touched my clit.
The city blurred. My thoughts blurred. Only pleasure. Only him.
He never stopped, I felt the pleasure coiling inside me.
“You should be driving,” I whispered, voice wrecked.
“I am,” he replied calmly. “Multitasking. Unless you want me to stop.”
“Don’t you dare,” I breathed. I just could hear my own heartbeat on my head.
His grip tightened slightly, like he liked hearing that.
“You’re going to regret giving me permission,” he said, voice low. “You always do.”
The tension coiled higher and higher, until I was gripping the seat, pulse in my ears, vision going white at the edges. And he insert a finger inside me. My breathing fogging the window′s car.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, “you’re going to make me lose my mind in this car.”
“Yes,” he said simply. “That’s the point.”
And I came, breathing hard, moaning his name.
When he finally pulled his hand away, I was still shaking, still floating, still trying to remember how to breathe.
He parked.
“We’re here,” he said, far too calm for someone who had just undone me.
I stared at him, dazed.
He looked at me like he’d planned every second of this.