Hell Breaks Loose (Devil's Rock #2)(46)

A muffled curse escaped him. “I never meant—”

“It’s fine. As soon I get home I’m making some changes.”

“You shouldn’t listen to me. Half the time I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m a dick.”

She nodded against the pillow. “You are a dick. But you’re right. I’m done letting others control me. Yes, that goes for you, too.”

“Me, too, huh? You think I’m in control of you?” His voice sounded funny, almost like he was strangling a little. He reached out, brushing his thumb across her cheek, catching a tear she didn’t even realize had escaped.

She gulped, trying to drag back the tears. One slipped loose anyway.

His hand slid alongside her cheek, his fingers wrapping around her neck. “Don’t,” he whispered, tugging her toward him, bringing her forehead to rest against his. “Sweetheart, don’t cry.”

The tenderness of his plea thawed the worst of her anger. This dangerous, rough man with all his jagged edges actually felt sorry for her. Damn it. A f*cking felon felt sorry for her. The floodgates opened. She wept ugly, copious tears. Her captor felt pity for her.

Holding her by the neck, his lips moved, murmuring nonsense against her cheek. She wasn’t sure when it evolved into kissing, but his lips were on her face, brushing the tracks of tears, crooning, “It’s going to be okay. Hush. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, sweetheart.”

She couldn’t stop, though, and she couldn’t catch her breath between the sad little sounds tearing from her lips.

Then he kissed her. Full on the mouth. He swallowed her sobs. His mouth moved over hers, devouring. She tasted the salt of her own tears on his lips, felt his groan, took it inside herself.

Stunned, she stopped crying. It was hard to feel sad when his mouth was so very good, so very hot. His tongue worked against hers like she was some kind of dessert and he was determined to have every last morsel.

Her hands drifted to his bare shoulders, reveling in the firmness of his skin.

There were no more tears, but other sounds welled up in her throat. Hungry, needy little sounds.

She clutched his shoulders harder. “This is a mistake,” she gasped against his lips.

“Definitely a mistake,” he agreed, deepening the kiss and coming over her, his knees settling between her thighs, nudging them apart.

His elbows settled on either side of her, fingers diving into her hair, palms holding her head in position for his plundering lips.

Yeah. A mistake, but she couldn’t stop. For the first time she was going to do something just because it felt good. She’d handle the consequences later like a big girl. Obviously this wasn’t going anywhere, but she’d take it. She’d take now. Deal with later . . . later.

Widening her thighs, she invited him in and lifted her hips to meet the hardness of him through his sweatpants. She found him, hard and jutting to meet her. She gasped into his mouth and ground against him.

His mouth lifted from her with a gasp and stinging curse.

“Reid,” she whimpered, but he was gone, moving, the full weight of him lifting off her.

She bit her lip both with relief and excitement when she felt him seize the rolled waistband of her boxer shorts. He pulled them off her in a move so swift it stole her breath.

Only a T-shirt and the panties were left, saving her from complete nakedness. He came back over her, crouching between her legs. She felt his gaze crawl over her like a caress. His hands settled on the outside of her thighs, his palms work-worn and rough. Her belly twisted at the sensation.

His eyes gleamed in the dark, finding her face. “Are you faking it this time?”

“Wh-What?”

“This . . . you and me? Is it real?”

Then it clicked. He was referring to their first night when she tried to manipulate him with her body. Of course that had backfired even then because she had liked it. Desperately. She had liked his hands on her even then.

“I’m not faking anything with you.” And she wasn’t. Terrible or not, she wanted him. She needed him. She wanted him to show her what it was like . . . what he had been talking about earlier today. Fucking. In a moment of striking clarity, she realized this might be the most genuine she had ever been with anyone. This thing between them, this heat . . . it was real.

Apparently satisfied, his hands started a slow ascent up her thighs, his thumbs turning and arrowing for the crotch of her underwear. She slid down a little on the bed, inching to meet him with a shaky sigh.

His thumbs centered on her, stroking up and down the crotch of her panties, trailing along her seam before finding and pressing down on her clit. She cried out and arched, her palms pushing down on the mattress. She wanted her panties gone, off. Incinerated to ashes. The barrier of damp fabric was torture.

“You don’t get to come back from this,” he growled, propping one hand beside her head and coming over her like some great beast in the dark, his hand still working between her thighs, fingers rubbing in fierce circles, bringing her to a frenzy.

She both nodded and shook her head in wild, jerky motions. Senseless. Mindless for him. She was close. The tide of an orgasm swelled up on her. So close. She bit her lip.

His fingers paused on her. “I’m sorry.” His voice shook slightly. “I shouldn’t take advantage of you like this, but I have to have this . . . you. Before I end up back in prison, I need this.”