One strong hand cupped the back of my head, his long fingers doing something to the nape of my neck that sent chills down my spine. His expression was dark, intent, lusty, making heat scorch up my neck. His heather grey eyes bore down on mine, making my heart pound violently in hopes of escaping from my rib cage.
My mouth opened to speak, but our breath just mingled and he growled a low rumbly groan as he fiercely crushed his lips against mine, drowning out my words, capturing my breath. A relentless flood of warmth swelled in my whole body. His lips were soft and unyielding, moving against me in slow passionate circles. The heat of his mouth made me gasp for air, and the taste of the dark brandy that flavored his mouth was delicious. Hard and rough, his mouth raked over mine. I swayed back against the sink, hands leaning back. I needed something to hold on to – something that would keep me here on earth, because his lips on mine, his hands, fingertips cupping my face, my head, made me feel…everything. My heart pounded erratically in my chest. The heat of his fingertips singed into my skin, and my insides thawed, softened, liquefied into a wet hot mess. Every spot where his skin touched mine, I felt a powerful staggering heat. The squeeze of his fingers over my flesh sent a rush of need through my belly. Where was this coming from? Why the hell was I standing here letting him TOUCH ME? WHY the HELL WAS I KISSING HIM BACK?
I pushed him away, covering my mouth, breathing heavy, unable to catch my breath. I had no words. I could tell everything by the way this man kissed me. I could tell how rough, hard, and erotically passionate this man was and how I was losing the ability to breathe because of his kiss. He stumbled back a step, breathing just as hard as I was, eyes blazing into mine, savage, wild and hungry. This stolen kiss, this theft of lips, this claim on my mouth was the most erotic sexual kiss in my life. My knees were so weak; I leaned back heavily against the counter again to stop my body from melting into thick sweet syrup at his feet.
“I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d taste…so good,” he whispered, dragging his hands roughly through his hair and back down over his face.
He had to ruin the moment, right? A dark laugh bubbled out of my throat, “What? You thought waitress flavored kisses were too sour for you?” Shoving myself off the counter, I walked away to the opposite side of the trailer, putting as much distance as I could between the both of us, and wanting to scream at him. I paced back and forth trying to regain my composure. Hell, just trying to stop panting like a dog in heat would be helpful. A thick dense knot settled in the pit of my stomach. I just let him kiss me and I loved it. I had no control over it, not a damn ounce. Now he’s going to degrade and belittle me and be all Kade-like again. Why? Why did he have to kiss me like that, yet be the biggest asshole I’d ever met?
For a moment, he looked as dazed as I felt, then his arrogant lip quirked up in a cocky smile. Look at that…the man had a playful dimple that introduced itself, mocking me on one of his cheeks. I wanted to smack the offensive boyish charmer right off his mean face.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I stopped my pacing. “Don’t. Don’t say anything else. You’d be perfect if you just kept your arrogant mouth closed. Your intimidation skills are lacking and I’m not the kind of woman who would actually believe that you are superior to me just because you’re a man. You think you’re better than me and you’re not Kade.” Anger at his stupid pompous smirk made me want to burst his narcissistic bubble and tell him that I was a hell of a lot more than a waitress in a strip club, but I clenched my mouth closed. This wasn’t like me to let someone get under my skin.
He raised his eyebrows and stalked towards me with purpose. “That’s what you think?”
“What I think is that you’re a disgusting, demeaning, lonely man who looks good in an expensive suit.”
By the time I ended my sentence, he was seething. He lowered his face to mine and looked straight into my eyes, viciously. “Let’s get everything out, yeah? I’m the first person to acknowledge that I am 100% fucked up in my head. That’s why I stay away from everyone. When I first laid eyes on you, God forgive me for my stupidity, I thought you were a fucking angel. But, I’ve met people like you, you’re just like everybody else I’ve ever known,” he sneered, disturbingly. “I think people should strive to be more than what you are. Look at what I saw when I first saw you; a waitress, poor as shit, working in a strip club where men pay her for the way she makes them feel, living in a fucking trailer. Then you came up to me, swaying those perfect hips, and you asked me what I wanted to drink. I made my assumption on what you gave me, love. And I offered you a job.”
Stunned, furious and explosive, I held my chin up to him, “That’s all there is, just the black and white cover of a book? Never even opening it up to see the inside. So I’m just a waitress or, as you explained so eloquently, a whore?” I closed the small distance between us, wanting the confrontation, wanting to fight with him. “Then all you are is a pathetic storyteller who lives in a world full of make-believe. You’re like Mister Fucking Rogers!”
Without warning, he hauled me up by the waist onto the counter, gripping my skin tightly. His fingers splayed out over the bare skin of my legs, the tips of his fingers pressing against the edge of my cotton boy shorts. Holding a steady gaze, his thumb lightly brushed across the skin of my inner thigh, before gripping me tighter.
“Get your hands off me, Grayson. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me,” I whispered, our faces less than an inch away from each other. “I’m more than what I do for a living. I’m a friend, a lover, a sister. I’m ANYTHING I want to fucking be. I pity you for defining yourself because of the four walls you box yourself into. And stop looking at me like you’re going to kiss me again, because it’s not going to happen. If I’m not good enough because I’m a waitress, don't settle for me, don't sink down to my level. You don't deserve anything I have to offer. Let that shit hurt for a hot minute, simmer in it then leave me the fuck alone. Repeat that shit to yourself in your head when you walk out of here, rinse and repeat.”
His expression darkened, “You can still feel my lips on yours, can’t you?”
“Shut up, Kade, and get your hands off me.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he hissed.
I pushed forward, moving him away with my body, “You’re wrong.”
“Prove me wrong,” he hissed again, louder.
Jumping off the counter edge, I walked past him and scowled, “You kissed me, not the other way around. I think you need to look into therapy.”
He laughed darkly and shook his head, “I don’t want proof about the kiss; I know you still feel my lips on yours. We both knew the truth after that kiss. I wasn’t moaning all by myself in here. You kissed back just as hard. We both want to fuck each other until we can’t walk straight. I want you to prove me wrong that you’re not like every other person on this planet.” A minute or two passed as we stared at each other. Ardent slate eyes bore into mine, waiting; wanting. He didn’t want me to prove him wrong. He wanted me to be like whatever it was that had hurt him; that was plain to see on his face. What the hell happened to him?