Page 29 of The Lightkeeper

His face could’ve been chiseled straight from stone for how hard it was. But there was a tremble underneath it. Like the rumble of an earthquake just below the earth’s surface about to break free. Or the rise of a growing wave that he tried to keep from crashing.

“Please, kiss me,” I whispered, my stare locked on his mouth and my breath captive in my lungs.

I watched his lips peel apart. I felt his hand leave my waist, and my lungs started to deflate in defeat. But then the heat of his palm landed on my shoulder. Weighted and determined. His hold slid to my neck, and he wrapped his big hand around my throat. I sucked in a breath as his thumb wedged under my chin, forcing my head higher.

The glint in his gaze darkened. Sharpened. Turning me from predator to prey. My heart galloped in my chest, beating so fast I swore he’d feel it and it would send him into a new spiral of concern. But he didn’t.

Kit tipped my head with just the flat of his finger until my mouth was just below his.

“Do you ever heed the warning signs?” he charged, his voice husky.

Not when it came to him.

My throat bobbed hard against his hand. “No.”

And that was how I got myself into trouble.

His mouth crushed mine—covered every inch with his own—and I was instantly swept away, caught up in the strong, warm storm that was Kit Kinkade. Any trace of coldness was obliterated—incinerated—by the heat of his lips.And I was right.How many times had I looked at his firmed lips—watched that mouth scold or frown—and wondered if there was any gentleness to them?Now, I knew there was.

There was so much demanding tenderness, it made the ache between my thighs border on pain.

Now, it was my turn to make sounds that conflated pleasure with pain. A whimper for more. A moan for relief. His hand at my throat held me steady, and his arm under me pulled me close. I was wrapped up in him—captive and captivated in equalmeasure. I wasn’t the sea star. He was. And I was the prey ensnared in his arms, ready to be devoured.

Kit slid his thumb to the base of my chin, applying pressure as his tongue teased along the seam of my lips—a promise for more.My mouth opened without hesitation, welcoming the invasion of his tongue and the heat that pooled at my core. This was it. This was the thing I knew I was supposed to feel during a kiss but never had.

My heart tripped and stumbled, my body dissolving into complete chaos with each stroke.How could this be just a kiss?How could I feel a kiss all the way down to my toes? How could the swipe of his tongue make my core clench with need?

I gripped the fabric of his shirt, clutching and pulling at it to bring him closer. That seemed like the answer to everything. To being warm. To being safe. To being protected.To being pleasured.I let him angle my head and deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring every corner of my mouth with fervent hunger.

“Kit…” I begged, the ache bordering on pain.

He growled in response and pinned my bottom lip between his teeth, pinching just hard enough to make me gasp, and then sucking until I moaned.

This was nothing like any kiss I’d had before—nothing like any kiss that had ever existed, I’d be willing to bet.

No one kissed like Kit Kinkade.

And I wanted his mouth everywhere. On my mouth. My neck. My breasts. Between my legs. There was no chance my underwear would dry anytime soon, they were so slick with my desire. And now, without his hand on my waist, I could move my hips again. I tried to go slow—rocking just enough to give my core the friction it craved and hoping Kit didn’t stop me again. But slow was practically impossible when he kissed me the way he did.

It scrambled my mind. My logical, rational, orderly mind became fevered with need.

“Fuck,” Kit groaned, and I realized I’d been grinding harder and faster than I thought.For a second, panic injected into my veins, afraid he was going to pull away, but then he pushed his thigh harder against my sex.“You’re so fucking wet, sea star, you’re soaking through my jeans.”

Sea star.

For a split second, I thought he’d called me sweetheart, and my chest squeezed. But realizing he’d actually called me sea star rearranged the very fabric of my heartbeat.

The pleasure building inside me grew like a wave cresting near the shore, one I desperately wanted to crash and drench me with a different kind of fevered fantasy. My mind was a flurry of instinct rather than thought; it made my tongue spar frantically with his. It made my fingers dig for more of his shirt as though I could reach his chest through the fabric. And it made my leg slide higher on his, giving myself a better angle to grind on him.

Higher and higher.Harder and harder.

I panted, my insides feeling as fevered as my forehead felt. I needed more. More pressure. More friction.More pleasure.So, I searched for it without thinking or knowing or paying attention—until my leg lifted so high that my knee rammed into something that was both impossibly hard and also incredibly sensitive.

Kit’s sharp grunt of pain was followed by a swift inhale of reality and a sharp curse of consequence. “Fuck.”

Crap.

I sucked in deep breaths, feeling the moment starting to unravel like a dropped ball of yarn. Kit pulled back and released my throat, and for some reason, the loss of his hold made it harder for me to breathe. He let out another deep groan of pain as he reached for his cock—that I’d just kneed.

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