Page 25 of After Our Kiss

Like it had been designed to fuck me up.

“Georgia.”

I darted my eyes back to him. He straddled my upper thighs, the hem of my dress tickling across my sensitive skin. His shirt strained over his chest. I saw how it raised rapidly, his lips half-open, pupils dilated. It was an expression that said “I could hurt you,” but it also said, “I want to fuck you more.”

Conway was turned on by... what? My struggles? I didn't know all the pieces of this puzzle, or what the final picture even was. I just knew that the static energy making his heart pound was affecting me as well.

I placed my hands on the mattress by my head. “Alright. Take it off.”

His eyes widened. He hadn't expected my compliance—surprising him thrilled me. Shifting in place made his jeans scrub my skin. The roughness woke up more of my cells, my heart flexing madly.

Conway was unquestionably sexy. Being under him like this had been one of my fantasies, and now it was real. But it also wasn't.

His hands reached for me, looping around my dress's straps. One thumb caressed my left shoulder as he started to guide the garment upwards. “Ah,” I hushed. That brief contact had sent a whirl of pleasure through my core.

He inhaled long and deep, shutting his eyes. I imagined him trying to get control of himself. This side of him was intriguing... no less frightening. But lust was something I could understand, and I mercilessly ached to understand Conway.

There were flecks of white-hotneedin his eyes when he opened them again. “You should have listened to me and undressed,” he whispered, tugging the cloth higher.

“Why? You're clearly enjoying yourself.”

“And you think that's better for us?”

I blinked, trying to grasp his meaning. He yanked hard at the dress. My hands moved from their self-imposed prison, grabbing his wrists. “Stop, you'll just rip it trying to get it up over my,” I stopped myself. I couldn't saybreasts.How weird thatthat,of all things, embarrassed me? “There's a zipper on the back.”

Without another word he flipped me onto my stomach. Sparks exploded in my skull. I struggled to recover enough to stay in control of my muscles. I was fighting an animalistic urge to rock my ass side to side. He'd woken up every one of my desires on a fucking atomic level.

Conway resettled himself so that he was straddling my hamstrings. I was acutely aware of his weight and how the hem of my dress was now skirting the roundest point of my ass.

The mirror shard,I thought in a panic. Would he be able to see if from his angle? On impulse I squeezed my legs together, hoping he wouldn't discover what I was smuggling.

His fingers wrapped in my hair, pushing it aside to expose my shoulder blades and the nape of my neck. The zipper purred as he split my dress downwards.

Air caressed my clammy skin. The dress fell open like a white lilac shedding its petals. It would be simple to pull it down my legs now, leaving me naked except for my light pink panties.

So why had he gone still?

“What is this?” he asked, his tone crisp.

Cold fear prickled in my blood.He's seen the shard of glass.

I started to twist around. One hard fingertip pressed into my skin, right on the back of my neck, stopping my movement and forcing my face into the mattress. “This. This righthere.”

And I knew what he was talking about.

Conway was looking at an open eye I'd had inked into the base of my neck. It was detailed with perfect eyelashes, the iris the same periwinkle blue as my own.

“It's nothing,” I said quickly, imagining the small design imprinted by multiple needle pricks. How I'd groaned, fighting tears from the pain, ignoring the artist who'd assured me we could stop. “Just a dumb tattoo.”

I couldn't tell him the truth. Not after what he'd done to me.

A single, quick snarl escaped him. The bed springs yawned when he got to his feet. Violently, he snatched the dress down my ankles. I flinched, but I didn't move to get up. I couldn't have if I wanted to; the pressure of the unsaid words between us was stronger than gravity.

His boots told me he was leaving. Finding the strength to turn my head, I watched him vanish through the door. The lock clicked behind him.

It was clear we'd battled. And in a way, I'd gotten what I'd wanted—he hadn't seen me naked. I hadn't been forced to undress for him. I'd even kept my secret blade.

Why didn't it feel like I'd won?

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