Page 85 of Bite Me

“You want the truth?” He plays with the ends of my hair. “You’re ovulating, and I need to taste you. I want to make you feel good. I want…a lot of things.”

“So that’s it . . . That’s the only reason why?”

He hesitates. “No. But I can’t tell you the truth.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not safe.”

“You’re protecting me?”

I’m not entirely sure why I reach my hand into his hair. It’s not pity. It’s not lust. For the first time, I understand. I’ve racked my brain over and over again trying to figure out the reason behind his hatred and insults. I need him to know I get it now.

I understand because I’ve done the same thing. I’ve pushed him away because it’s easier, and through it all, we still end up in the same place with the same conclusion.

I can’t hate him, no matter how much I try.

“You can trust me,” I say.

Has he ever had someone he could trust? Someone who he can tell his secrets to? Someone he can tell his favorite things and secret wants? If not his family or friends, then who?

His eyes sparkle, and the wall I’ve always put between us lowers just enough.

“Don’t make me admit this.”

“Tell me. Please, I have to hear you say it. I need the truth from you.”

“The moment I spotted you, I knew you were going to change everything. Then I smelled you, and it was as if my atoms rearranged. I convinced myself I could stay away from you if I just . . . hated you. If I just found everything you did and liked and told myself it was annoying. But you just had to be . . . you. The epitome of a glimmering spark catching my eye because you were so bright and happy and everything I don’t ever feel. It just kept getting worse because you . . . you bake. Stars above, you fucking love the same things I used to love as a kid, and then I started to turn it into a joke because that was the only way I could cope. Every time I learned something new about you, it just made you more interesting. It made me obsessed with the thought of you. Why would I ever admit that? Who would I tell? My grandfather, who only loves me when I do what he wants? You, the one person who should stay away from me? The one person I can’t bear to lose sight of?”

I let out a shaky breath, but I’m caged by Dacre’s ribs.

“You never hated me?”

“Not even a little bit.” Something breaks in his voice, and he presses his hands to the door beside my head. “I’ve tried so hard. But I can’t . . . And that’s the truth. That’s why I want to protect you. I know I can take care of you. There wasn’t anything wrong with you. It’s been my fault this whole time.”

We’re silent while Dacre warms my chest, his heartbeat calming my jitters. I let his words sink into my skin as he waits for me, patiently tracing circles on my chest and up to my ear.

“Can I taste you now?”

“Yes . . .”

Dacre kneels on the floor. I should be an egomaniac with this type of power, but I feel it, too—the urge to be satisfied like I have never before.

“Should we . . . move somewhere else, or?”

“No.” His lips hit the inner corner of my thigh, and my knees nearly buckle. I can’t bite back the moan on my lips.

His head disappears under my skirt, and he grasps my panties with his teeth. This, I’ve never done before, and I have no idea what to expect.

I brace my hand on the doorframe when Dacre’s tongue reaches my center. I never knew something could feel this good. He’s soft at first, dragging his tongue slowly over my wetness, and then peppering kisses everywhere else.

Dacre pulls me till I’m almost sitting on top of him. I try to keep my weight off him by grabbing the door handle or the dresser, anything to keep me from smothering him. But every time I do, he pulls me off balance till I’m certain I must be crushing him.

The softness is quickly replaced by something much more demanding and passionate. The first sensation of pressure has me digging my fingernails into his hair, demanding more.

“It’s . . . It’s so . . .” This feeling is impossible. “Good.”

“Yeah?” He gently sucks on my clit, and my head falls back.