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“You’re not in the mood? Seriously, what the fuck, Cilla?” he ground out, shoving his fingers through the hair on his crown in frustration. “What the hell do you need to be in a mood about anyway? I’m the one who’s pissed—you took off after that night at the party, then you fucking ghosted me for days, Cilla. Not one goddamn word from you in four motherfucking days, and you’re in a mood?”
As he spoke, her face got redder and redder until the color spread downward over the creamy skin of her throat, down her chest, and disappeared into her t-shirt. He didn’t even try to not think about how far that color spread, and if it matched the color of her pussy lips.
Swallowing back a groan, he nearly flinched at the explosion of words from his usually sweet Cilla.
“Screw you, Patriot,” she spat. “Ghosted you? I didn’t ghost you, Patriot, I just lived my life as I usually would. I’m sorry if you feel neglected because I’m not pandering to you.”
Recoiling as if she’d just poked him in the forehead with a steel bat, he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Pandering…to me?” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “What the fuck, Cilla! We’re friends, we care about each other. I worry about you, I think about you, I want to talk to you—every goddamn day. And you feel the same way about me.” He used his longer stride to get right up in her face, until there wasn’t an inch of space between their bodies. “What happened that night at the party that made you run and hide from me, Cilla?”
She pinched her lips, her face leaching of color until her sexy blush from earlier was gone. He already missed it.
I missed something, alright, because Cilla going pale at his mention of the party meant something had happened, and she didn’t think to tell him about it.
Fuck that!
He leaned down until their noses nearly touched. “What happened, baby?” he drawled, his voice low and rumbling through his chest.
She shuddered, her mouth forming an O.
He brushed his lips against hers, so…very…lightly. Like a whisper.
He could feel his cock leaking precum against the inside of his thigh where it was tucked down his pant leg. He was a beast at 9 ½ thick, pulsating inches, so an erection was always a problem…unless he was naked.
Patriot watched quietly as emotions shifted through Cilla’s eyes—uncertainty, desire…then fear.
What was she afraid of? Him? How he made her feel?
Hmmm, his sweet Cilla was untried; all of her movements, her reactions, told him that she was inexperienced. But eager to be taught.
She bit her lip.
That fat, juicy, tasty looking lip.
In one breath he went from restrained to ravenous, crashing his mouth to hers.
Shocked, she gasped, and he took the opportunity offered, and he plundered. He stormed her mouth like a man desperate for life. For a taste of her. He conquered her, sliding his tongue into the wet heat he’d been dying to know intimately.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her flush against him, and he partook of the feast of the senses. Delicious. Decadent.
How could he have ever thought to deny himself this? To deny himself the pleasure and the passion of Cilla?
I’m a fucking fool.
No more. No longer.
She was his.
He would claim the shit out of her—and then her mouth, her noises of pleasure, and all of her—every goddamn luscious centimeter of her would be his.
Drawing in every last ounce of his control, he held back the beast snapping and clawing to be released, growling and snarling to be unleashed, to cage the civilized man and let the beast take control. But he couldn’t be that beast with Cilla. She deserved the man, the gentle and careful man who only wanted her pleasure. To let the beast loose would scare the shit out of the inexperienced Cilla. She needed soft, and he wanted to give it to her. He would give her whatever she needed—he would. No one else would ever have Cilla like he would. But could a man who was more animal than human really be what Cilla needed? Could a man who had so much blood on his hands and darkness in his soul actually hold the brightness and goodness that was Cilla without tainting her forever?
Patriot, an asshole who just took what he wanted, when he wanted it…took his time, savoring the taste of his woman on his tongue. Not a man of words, he still wished he could articulate just what he felt for her. If he could inscribe the depth and breadth and intensity of what he felt for her, once he was done, there would be no paper left in the world on which to write. And so, he kissed her, devoured her, ravished her mouth with his, pouring himself, his blackened soul, his blazing heart, and his desperate desires into the kiss. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to be inside her, to feel her tight, scorching heat swallowing his fat, aching cock. It would be motherfucking glorious. He groaned into her mouth as she shivered against him, the hard tips of her nipples scraping against his chest. Fuuuuuck, if he didn’t have his Cilla soon, he’d fucking explode.
Suddenly, her hands were pushing against his chest frantically, and he jerked himself back from the brink of mad euphoria.
He broke the kiss, gulping lungfuls of air, desperate to steady himself after he lost his fucking mind in that mouth of hers. The beast, barely leashed, growled, enraged at the loss of contact with its prey.
