Thin Love (Thin Love, #1)(45)

The sound was like a whip, quick and deafening. She’d moved away from herself in that moment, replaced by some creature consumed with venom and she didn’t understand why her fingers stung or why Kona’s head was turned away from her and his skin was streaked with a bright red handprint.

He turned his head, unhurried, a shift in his eyes that came before his face was back in front of her. And inexplicably, the look he gave her and then the slow, meticulous slide of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, had Keira’s nipples pebbling against her shirt.

That look made her wet.

She expected his anger. She expected him to back away, to snatch from her the heat that his body and the moment poured over her skin. But Kona’s eyes did not narrow. They didn’t squint down in his anger and his face was not a mask of abject rage. Kona Hale brought his tongue into his mouth, before the cleft in his chin came up and a smile slid across his face.

Keira stopped breathing.

And then that mysterious, unnamable zip that always crackled between them shot out hard, like the force of a lightning bolt, and Keira didn’t think about why she wasn’t scared, why she found it impossible to squeeze her legs together tight enough to take the throb away.

The throb became a pulse and that pulse beat into an ache when Kona’s deep growl grew louder, sounded nearer the closer he leaned toward her. The growl wasn’t angry, wasn’t a coil of frustration and Kona paused, lingered just long enough in front of Keira until all she felt was hot, tantalizing breath on her face.

Kona grabbed her collar and Keira let him, wanted him close, wanted him dragging her forward. “I f*cking love your hands on me, Wildcat.”

They came together quick, with the speed of a shot. The frenzy was hard, gripping, gripping fingers, mouths and tongues colliding, anger and desire and beautiful heat collecting, touching so that the zip Keira had denied for weeks flooded into a landslide.

For every thrust against her, Keira gave two. With Kona’s strong hands pulling her against him, Keira scratched across his skin and the dance played on, harder, fiercer, shedding logic or caution.

Push.

Pull.

Give.

Take.

Their sounds filled the empty hallway; moans and grunts, breaths held and released, lips sucking, all became a cacophony of sounds that announced the break of resistance and the end of denial.

Kona lifted her up, pressed her against the wall and some primal urge directed her, had her slipping her legs around his waist, skirt rising up her thighs and Keira didn’t care that they could be discovered. The idea of someone catching them, in fact, made her wetter, had her clawing at Kona tighter.

“God… oh God,” she said when Kona grabbed her ass, when she felt the thick, brutal outline of his dick jutting against her. She craved that touch, the weight and girth of what waited for her, his hot, heavy breath on her skin, of his wide, perfect tongue slipping in her mouth. Kona was large, too large and consuming, his weight too heavy against her chest, his fingers too tight against her nipples and Keira pulled back, gasping from the overwhelming sensation. “I can’t breathe.”

“I got plenty breath for the both of us.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow and Keira felt both drunk and consumed, more turned on than she’d ever been in her life, and at that moment all she wanted was Kona’s skin on hers, the smell of his sweat, the heat of his body covering her.

Dizziness came to her, made the air around her confining and she pulled her mouth from his, needing a moment to breathe air that did not taste and smell of Kona to keep from drowning. “Wait.”

His grunt was deep, frustrated, but Kona pulled back, chest in a heavy pant, his forehead on her shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. And in that moment the old Keira gained a toe-hold, and she let reason slip back in between the raging, dark thoughts. “What the hell are we doing?” He looked up at her and she gasped at the claw marks on his neck and the angry scratch on his chin. When had she done that? “Oh God. What… what the hell are we doing?”

“Keira, it’s been coming for weeks. You know that.”

“This is stupid. This, I’m not… this isn’t me.”

“No. It’s not.” Kona pulled her legs from his waist and his hands moved back to her face. His voice was level, calm. “This is you with me.”

Instinct had her retreating. She had groped Kona in the middle of a strange hallway where anyone could see them. She had left Mark downstairs waiting and Leann likely worrying about how she’d get home. She’d attacked Kona, got turned on - so very turned on - by the scratches and slaps she leveled at him. She let him touch her. She let him grip her. These were not the actions of a sane person. And the fear of what she had done, of what she had allowed herself to do, crowded deep in her mind, had Keira taking too many breaths, shifting too far away from Kona’s reaching arms.

“I have to go.”

“Why? Going to find your date?”

“No, I’m just getting away from you.”

His arms came around her waist when she made for the elevator. “Don’t act like being with me would be a bad thing.” His chest felt wide, edges and dips that she couldn’t help leaning against. “Don’t act like you don’t want me.” She didn’t bother arguing, resisting the wet path he made against her neck with his lips. “I’m not like this, not usually. Only with you. You’re in my head too much. The smell of your hair, the way you taste, your nerdy jokes. I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s driving me stupid.”