Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(59)

He was only a handful of inches from me now, and when he laughed, I wanted to hit him. "Pretending? You were faking inside?"

"Are you a f*cking parrot?"

"Oh, Ivy, babe . . ." He chuckled under his breath. "You're a shit liar, you know that?"

My hands curled into fists. "I am not lying."

"Yeah. Okay. Then how do you explain your panties being so wet they were practically drenched?"

My eyes widened. Mortification swept through me, but he wasn't done. His mouth kept on moving. "I bet I could taste you on my fingers right now. But you were pretending? Then that sweetness between your thighs must be one hell of an actress."

I didn't even think.

Stepping forward, I swung at him. No bitch slap either. My closed fist was heading for that jaw. Unfortunately, he was too fast for that. He caught my wrist before my fist connected.

"That's not nice," he said. "No reason to be so violent and a liar."

My rage knew no limit. "Oh my God, you arrogant, self-important, mother—"

"You were not acting. You were not pretending." The teasing dropped from his tone as his voice hardened. "You were riding my hand, and Ivy, there isn't a damn thing wrong with that. What's wrong is that you're acting like nothing happened between us. That's total shit. You lit up for me like a damn firework and I barely touched you."

"I—"

My back hit the beam, and before I could take my next breath, Ren's entire hard length was pressed against the front of my body. His head was low, his face in mine. "Do not tell me again you were pretending. You and I both know the truth. I want you. I think I've made that abundantly clear."

"As clear as a damn glass window," I shot back, frustrated for a thousand and one equally important reasons.

His lips twitched. "What is your deal?" One of his hands dropped to my hip. He squeezed gently as he gave a little shake of his head. "Do you still love him?"

I stiffened as if I'd stepped under an icy downpour. "What?"

"Do you still love the guy you lost?" he questioned. "Is that it?"

A huge part of me couldn't believe he dared to even ask me that question, that he would even reference Shaun when we were this close. It seemed so wrong, as if we were spitting on his memory, but the words still tumbled off my tongue. "A . . . part of me will always love him."

"Meaning you aren't still in love with him."

Lowering my gaze, I couldn't respond to that. Losing Shaun had devastated me, and my role in his death had nearly broken me, but I wasn't still holding on to him. Not in that way, and I wouldn't lie and use that as a reason.

"I don't get it then."

"Why do you even want me?" My voice shook. "You barely know me."

He stared at me a moment, incredulity etching into his features. "What I know is that there is no guarantee of tomorrow. There is no promise there will be another day or week for us. When you want something, you go for it. I don't need to know your life story to want you. And don't twist that back on me. I see it already building in those pretty blue eyes. I want to know your story. I want to know you. I want—oh, f*ck it."

Ren cupped my cheek, his hand gentle as he tilted my head back, and before my heart could take another beat, he kissed me.

It was no slow or seductive kiss.

He claimed my lips as if he were laying claim to my body, to my soul, and every part of me. His mouth was demanding as he tilted his head, his lips moving over mine, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips, willing them to part, and I . . . I opened for him. My lips parted, and he made this sound, this deep animalistic groan that sent flames lapping over my skin. The kiss deepened, and his tongue slid over mine, along the roof of my mouth. He took me with his mouth, tasted me and claimed me.

When he lifted his head, he was breathing deeply as he stared into my eyes. They swirled in a multitude of greens as he dragged his thumb along my lower lip.

"I . . . I've never been kissed like that," I whispered, awed by the way my lips tingled.

"Oh, f*ck, Ivy," he groaned, and then his mouth was on mine again.

This time, he explored leisurely, as if he were mapping out the contours of my lips, and I . . . kissed him back.

The hand on my hip tightened as I flicked my tongue along his lip, and he moaned into my kiss. His hand slid down my hip, over my thigh, and then under the hem of my skirt. Those deft fingers glided over my dagger, and a fierce heat built, overshadowing all thought. I didn't understand why. I didn't care. His hand curved over my rear. He lifted me onto the tips of my toes, his hips fitting with mine, and I felt him against my core. Sharp spikes of pleasure shot through me. My arms circled his neck, and that kiss . . . oh God, it went to a whole new level, and what I said moments before was true. No one had ever kissed me with such reckless passion.

His hand worked under my skirt, kneading my flesh, urging me on, and I went. My back arched, my hips pushed against his as I clung to him. He said something against my mouth, between the kisses. I couldn't make it out, but I felt a tremor rock his hard body. I was lost in him, surrendering to the feelings he was creating inside me.

Breaking the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine, but his hand still moved along the curve of my bottom. His voice was thick. "I'm going to try to be the good guy here."