Chapter 10 #2
Creed’s mouth crushed mine like the clash of a wave that had been building since the day he left. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tender. It was raw and punishing—his teeth grazing my lower lip, his tongue invading my mouth like he needed to take something back that belonged to him.
And I let him.
Because part of me needed the reminder too.
My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned into my mouth, the sound vibrating in my chest. His hands gripped my hips, dragging me closer until I felt his erection straining against his slacks. Hard. Hot. Relentless.
I gasped into the kiss, and his response was a possessive growl, low and rough in his throat. His mouth moved to my jaw, then to the hollow beneath my ear, trailing heat like a fuse about to detonate.
“You make me fucking insane,” he rasped, breath scorching against my skin. His teeth scraped over my neck—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make my breath hitch. “I can’t think straight around you.”
I arched into him, surrendering to the chaos he brought. But there was clarity in my chaos.
“Stop fighting it,” I said softly.
The weight of those words landed between us. And God..., we both felt it.
His breath broke across my lips, uneven and ragged.
“You think I don’t feel this?” He moved his hands to my legs, spreading my thighs and stepping between them, closing every last inch of space between us.
The cold edge of the desk bit into the backs of my thighs, but I barely registered it.
Not when he was so close, his body heat wrapping around me, enclosing me in his scent, his presence, his control.
“You haunt me,” he said, his voice low, guttural, like the words were being torn from him.
“Every second of every day, you’re in my head.
You’ve invaded my goddamn thoughts, my nights, my life.
” His hands slid up my thighs, his touch branding me, claiming me, even as his words threatened to push me away. “And I hate it.”
I flinched, the words slicing through me like a blade.
His grip tightened. “But I can’t stop.”
The air between us crackled like a live wire, heat and pain and need colliding in a way that was dangerous.
“Stop pushing me away,” I whispered.
His jaw ticked, his breathing uneven, his fingers biting into my hips like he was afraid to let go. “I don’t know how.”
The admission knocked the breath from my lungs. Creed Kirkland didn’t admit weakness. He didn’t allow vulnerability. Yet here he was, his body pressed against mine, his hands gripping me like a lifeline, his voice raw with something neither of us could name.
I reached up, my fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, my heart pounding against my ribs. “Then let me show you.”
He exhaled harshly, like he was fighting some internal battle, like he knew once he let go—once he surrendered to this—there would be no turning back.
And then, just like before, his mouth crashed into mine again. But this time, it wasn’t just desperate. It was reckless.
Ruinous.
A kiss that promised destruction and devotion all at once.
His hands slid into my hair, gripping tight, pulling me closer, deeper, drowning us both in the inevitability of what we were. I moaned into his mouth, my legs tightening around his waist, and I felt the shudder that tore through him, the curse he muttered against my lips.
This was madness. But it was our madness. And neither of us was running.
Creed’s kiss was more than just possession. It was punishment. A raw, violent kind of claiming, his teeth grazing my lower lip, his tongue sweeping into my mouth like he needed to drown in me, to consume me whole. Like he needed to remind himself that this was his.
I moaned, a desperate sound that vibrated between us, and Creed growled in response, the sound rough, primal, devastating.
His hands gripped my thighs, spreading me wider, dragging me even closer until my body was flush against his, until I could feel every rigid, unyielding part of him pressed into me.
Hard. Hot. Unforgiving. And when his fingers dug into my flesh, bruising and possessive, I didn’t push him away.
I arched into him, wanting more, needing more.
His mouth devoured me, moving from my lips to my jaw, to the sensitive hollow beneath my ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You make me fucking insane,” he rasped, his teeth scraping over my skin before he bit down hard enough to make me gasp.
“Good.” My nails bit into his shoulders, my breath uneven, my body trembling with the force of everything he made me feel.
Too much. Not enough. Never enough.
He cursed again, his grip tightening, his control slipping like sand through his fingers. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he ground out, his forehead pressing against mine. “Not like this. Not like a man who’s been starving for too fucking long.”
I dragged in a shaky breath, the heat between us smothering, suffocating, burning. I knew what he was saying. That this wasn’t just about sex. That this was more. That we were more.
And it terrified him.
Creed Kirkland, the man who controlled everything, couldn’t control this. Couldn’t control us. But I wasn’t going to let him run.
“Stop fighting it.” My voice was a whisper, but it carried all the weight of everything between us.
And then—
With one swift motion, he spun me around, pressing me against the desk, pinning me beneath the force of his body.
I gasped, my fingers gripping the edge of the wood, my heart slamming against my ribs. His hands were everywhere, trailing fire along my skin, his mouth hot and unforgiving against the back of my neck.
“Tell me to stop,” he ordered, his voice rough.
It was a test. One I had no intention of passing. Instead, I arched against him, pressing my body back into his, letting him feel exactly how much I wanted this.
Wanted him.
Needed him.
“Don’t,” I whispered, my pulse hammering. “Don’t stop.”
The groan that tore from his throat was pure, agonized need. His hands were firm on my waist, fingers digging into my hips like he was barely holding himself together.
“I’m not good at this,” he rasped again, his voice edged with frustration.
I knew what he meant. He wasn’t good at vulnerability. At giving up control. At letting someone in. I swung around, needing to see his eyes, and stared up at Creed, who dropped his gaze, trying to mask his feelings.
“Then don’t fight it,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the crisp fabric of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath. “Don’t fight us.”
His response was a growl, a sound deep in his chest, dark and unrestrained.
His lips found mine again, this time harder, more demanding.
His hands slid up my sides, slipping beneath my blouse, fingers pressing into my bare skin, branding me with his touch.
Heat surged through me, twisting my insides into a mess of raw need and unspoken emotion.
My back arched as his mouth left mine, trailing down the curve of my jaw, his breath hot against my throat while I unfastened the buttons of my blouse.
“You drive me insane,” he muttered against my skin, his voice rough, his control fraying at the edges. “I can’t think when I’m around you.”
My fingers tangled in his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he pushed me back onto my desk, his body crowding mine, dominating the space between us.
“Then stop pretending,” I breathed, my head tipping back as his lips found the sensitive spot just beneath my ear. “Stop punishing me.”
His grip tightened, and for a moment, he stilled.
His hands flexed against my ribs, his breathing uneven, like he was waging a war within himself.
“Creed—”
“Tell me you want me to fuck you.” His voice was raw, desperate, each word dripping with possession. “Say it, Peyton.”
I met his gaze, the storm in his gray eyes swallowing me whole.
I could fight him. But the truth was, today I wanted this fight. This push and pull. The way he unraveled for me, the way I shattered under him.
“Fuck me,” I whispered as I shrugged out of my blouse and then removed my bra.
A sound rumbled from his chest—something primal, something dangerous.
I was lifted again, Creed sweeping me up like I weighed nothing.
He carried me across the room in three long strides.
I barely had time to register the sofa beneath my back before his body was covering mine, his mouth crashing into my lips with a hunger that stole my breath.
There was no hesitation now. No second-guessing.
Just us—wild, reckless, and inevitable. And this time, Creed Kirkland wasn’t running.
He was claiming. And God help me, I was letting him.
Creed’s body was a cage above mine, his weight pressing me into the cushion, his presence overwhelming in the best, most dangerous way.
His breath was harsh against my lips, his grip unrelenting as he pinned my wrists above my head, his fingers locked tight around mine like he was afraid I might disappear beneath him.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he growled, his forehead pressing against mine, his voice a razor’s edge between anger and something darker. “The way I lose my goddamn mind every time you’re near? The way I haven’t been able to think about anything but you since the second I walked away?”
His confession sent a shudder through me, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.
I arched against him, desperate for friction, for anything to close the aching space between us.
“Then why did you leave?” I whispered, my voice raw, filled with every ounce of pain, frustration, and need I had buried for weeks.