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He pulls out the triple antibiotic and a Band-Aid. He sets them on the bed, turning to me. I tilt my body away, heart pounding as I slowly unzip the hoodie, sliding it off my shoulders. He inhales a sharp breath. The tank top is Dolly’s, so it’s skintight on my chest. My boobs are practically spilling out of it and the threadbare sports bra.
I lift the hem high enough for him to access the cut I got when I was slammed against the wall. I think a nail caught me, resulting in the cut. The bruise is from the impact, which also left my ribs cracked. When his warm fingers touch my skin, I close my eyes, holding back a moan.
My lips part, and I’m glad my face is turned away from him. He’d be able to read the unhinged desire all over my expression if he could see me. The Band-Aid is pressed into my skin gently before he tugs my shirt back into place.
“Anywhere else?” he asks, his voice hoarse.
I turn to look up into his eyes, slowly shaking my head. His eyes dip down over me, pure yearning in his gaze. I blink, my eyes trailing to his lips. I’m weak right now, too weak to hide what I want.
He wants me too. I know he does.
His callous hand never left the hem of my shirt. His fingers slowly peel it back up again, just enough to place his hand on the tender, bare skin at my waistline.
“Rosie …” He breathes out my name like it’s a desperate plea. It’s the first time it’s ever touched his lips, and I love the sound of it more than I thought possible.
“Hmm?” I ask, shifting closer to him on the bed so that our thighs are touching.
One moment, we’re a foot apart, and in the next, he grips under my ass, lifting me effortlessly onto his lap, pulling my leg around so that I’m straddling him. My hands reach back around his neck, and our eyes meet. My hair brushes against his shoulder, leaving little damp water spots on his T-shirt. My fingers run through his black hair. His eyes roll back and close.
“You’re hurt.” He struggles to speak, squeezing my thighs. “I don’t even know where I can touch you.”
When his black-brown eyes open again, they’re somehow darker than ever, the lust at war within them. The veins in his neck are popping out with his effort to resist pouncing on me.
“Where do you want to touch me?” I ask, desperate to hear his answer.
He sets his jaw, seeming to attempt to control himself. “I want to start with your lips.” His voice is deep. His eyes follow the words. “I’ll kiss you until you can’t breathe. Then, I’ll work my way down to your jawline, right here.” His fingers reach up to brush the skin between my jaw and neck. “Then, I’ll kiss all the way down your neck, until I get to your chest.”
His eyes have made their way down to my spilling cleavage. I’m so wet; I’m afraid he can smell my arousal. He struggles to continue, his hands cupping my ass gently, like he really is afraid he’ll hurt me if he touches me anywhere.
I’m in anguish because of his touch. I’m on the brink of begging him for it.
Kiss me. Please just fucking kiss me.
His eyes snap to mine. “I’m not taking your virginity in a motel room.”
“Who said anything about sex?” I’m breathless.
“If I start with you …” He leans closer, our lips an inch apart.
Our mouths share the same air for a few beats.
“Then what?” I whisper, trailing my fingers through the hair at his nape again.
He pulls me closer. I can feel his erection inside his jeans.
He’s just as turned on as I am.
A warm satisfaction spreads through me at the realization.
“Then, I won’t want to stop,” he says, his voice strained.
I lick my lips in anticipation, boldly grinding my pussy against his hardness. Something about being kidnapped and thinking I might not make it out alive has made me lose what little resistance toward him I once possessed.
I want to break him. I want him to break down for me.
His right hand reaches up to cup the back of my head as he stands up, supporting my weight with one arm. He spins me around and lays me down on the bed. He hovers above me, careful not to put pressure on my ribs.
“Fuck it,” he whispers right before his mouth crashes down on mine.
