Lead Me Home (Fight for Me #3)(40)

Both of those big hands had me by the face.

A war flashed through his expression. A battle that raged.

It only lasted a second before his mouth crashed against mine.

Crushing.

Devouring.

Overpowering.

And oh God, did it ever feel good.

I whimpered, and my lips parted.

He took it as an invitation.

Or maybe he was just breaking in.

His hot tongue slid against mine, and a ball of want so huge I could barely breathe around it built in my center.

Desire and need.

Old, old love.

If only it wasn’t encased in a shell of bitterness. Gelled by jagged, broken hurt.

My hands flew to his wide, wide shoulders, and my fingernails sank in.

I didn’t know if I was holding on or pushing him away.

A needy moan escaped my throat, and I clung to him in a way I knew I shouldn’t. In a way I couldn’t. Yet, there I was, wanting to crawl right inside him. Wanting to stay there forever. Where everything felt perfectly right and there weren’t a million things wrong around us.

I felt so small against him, every massive inch of his body covering mine.

Eclipsing everything.

He kissed me as if he’d gone mad.

The man finally undone.

Lost but searching for a way to break out of the labyrinth that held him hostage.

Those big hands spread across my shoulders and rode down my sides until he was palming my bottom and tugging me against his hips. It elicited a pant, and my heart thundered in my chest.

As frantic as his.

I felt the world tremble around me when he rubbed himself between my thighs. His cock so big and hard where it pressed against his jeans. As daunting as the man.

Heat spiraled. A vortex of dark greed. A need I couldn’t afford to feel.

But it was there.

I sucked in a desperate breath of desire.

Ollie struggled to get me closer. He rocked and rocked. Creating this friction I could feel sparking between us.

A match and gasoline.

“Nikki . . . sweet girl . . . God. Why do you feel so good? So fucking good.”

I could feel his torment slide out with every word. With every wayward thrust of his hips.

I meant to push him away, but my fingers moved to the longer pieces of hair at the top of his head. I fisted two handfuls of it and held on while he consumed my mouth and my knees buckled out from under me.

Hiking me up, he wrapped my legs around his waist, holding me while his lips danced in a delicious push and pull.

Tongue exploring.

Teeth nipping and tugging.

Delirium.

I ripped my mouth from his and prayed it would afford me some good sense, gasping for air as I panted toward the ceiling.

It only made things worse.

Ollie kissed along my chin and across the exposed skin of my throat. He lapped up and down the sensitive flesh, nipping and biting as he continued to grind himself against my center, which throbbed almost painfully.

God.

I wanted him.

I wanted him so badly, but sometimes it was the things we wanted the most that would destroy us in the end.

“Nikki,” he rumbled again.

A guttural groan of pleasure all mixed up with agony.

So dark and needy.

“Ollie.”

It was a whimper.

Hope and love and everything I’d ever wanted.

He palmed my breast, and he brushed his thumb over my nipple that pebbled with his touch.

I ached.

I glowed.

I pressed deeper into his hold, and he practically growled. “These tits. Fuck, Nikki, you drive me out of my mind. What the fuck am I doin’? What the fuck am I doin’?”

Every fear I had came out with his own reservations that he rumbled across the skin of my neck.

Sliding over me like a slow warning.

Because I knew better. I knew better.

I knew this was only going to end with my heart splattered all over the floor, and no one would be there to pick up the pieces because he was the one who’d made the mess in the first place.

Even though it was weak, I nudged at his shoulders.

“Ollie,” I cried. Softly. A prayer for him to stop doing this to me.

Pushing and pulling.

Taunting and ruining.

“Nik,” he grated, moving back to my mouth. His lips were so plush and soft and smooth, the perfect contrast to the scruff of his beard that scratched at my chin.

The promise of so much pleasure.

Every rush of his hand across my body was fueled by rage.

Softened by affection.

God, this man would be my complete undoing.

My beautiful beast.

He worked his mouth against mine.

Coaxing and demanding.

His presence filled me.

Heart and spirit and lungs.

Toasted vanilla.

Barrels of oak soaked in liquor.

Just his presence was enough to get me drunk. His touch enough to desolate. But this kind of pleasure would only bring pain, and I was so not into that sort of thing.

I pushed again and squeezed my eyes shut when I whispered, “Stop.”

It was so low I wasn’t sure he could even hear it, but I knew he felt it.

A harsh exhale ripped from his lungs as he set me on my shaky feet. His chest heaved as he reached out and gripped the top of the dresser behind me, locking me in while he pressed his body away.