Page 48 of The Vow

“Fuck you, Remington,” I murmured as his mouth descended, and I braced myself.

I felt the stillness in the air, the tension in my body, and the complete surety of my destruction as though his lips were a bomb about to land.

“I wish you would, Robber. God, how I wish you would.”

It was too late to wish I’d never met Damon Remington.

Too late to wish I’d never wanted him. Never believed him. Never married him. And never loved him.

And as I stood in the middle of my enemy’s home, in the arms of my hated husband, it was too late to do anything to stop his mouth from taking mine.

I swore I heard my name slip from his tongue a second before his chiseled lips pressed to mine like a knife to the softest parts of me. Yet, I felt no pain, only pleasure. A sweet slide into every ache and want and warmth that had disappeared with him.

With a groan, he angled his head, his hand cupping the back of mine and imprisoning me to the slide of his tongue. The warm velvet tip traced the closed seam of my lips, teasing but not trespassing through their barrier.

Desire ignited my skin. The heat of him scorched my sensitive nipples through our clothes, and tiny spasms rippled from my core. It was an onslaught—the irony of a simple kiss being the straw that broke my stoic defenses. But I wasn’t prepared. Fifteen years of hurt and hating him made me wholly unprepared for just how much I would want to feel his embrace once more.

And so, my lips parted on a quickened sigh, an opening of the gate to let his Trojan tongue inside.

Deep and possessive, his tongue hunted mine and plundered every inch of my mouth. Slow, assertive strokes dug the burning madness deeper under my skin. For so long, I’d been alone. Even with my family and my friends and my purpose, I’d still felt alone. And it was the bitterest pain to live with the knowledge that the only time I hadn’t felt that loneliness was the months I’d been in love with the man who’d broken my heart. A man I still ached for without any rational qualm. A man I now clutched to me like my only source of oxygen.

His arm snaked around my back, stoking the fever spreading through my blood, coiling the desire harder between my thighs. Damon’s kiss was human quicksand. A rip current of desire. There was no fighting it. Fighting it would only make it worse. Fighting it would only kill me. No, the only way to escape was to succumb. To not struggle. To let it carry me into its powerful depths until it was safe enough to float free.

Yes, I still ached for the memory of him. Undeniably. Unequivocally. Memory was a powerful thing, the way it was tied to things like the whiskey scent of him and the champagne taste of his tongue. But it was more than memory. With Damon, it wasn’t the scent of him I remembered, but the ability to fully breathe. It wasn’t the taste of him I recalled, but the sensation of not starving. And his touch…the way it quickened my heart and warmed my skin, for this moment, I knew again what it was like to be completely alive.

And for a few moments, I wanted to live in his embrace again.

My arms found their way around his neck, coiling into the soft shadow of his hair. Flushing myself to his front, I savored every hard dip and swell of his body, especially the heavy part of him swollen into the soft of my stomach.

My core tightened, and I distantly registered the slickness coating my thighs.God, how I wanted him.How foolishly and desperately I wanted him.

“God, how I’ve missed you, Robber.” This time, I let the textured words soak in—let them steep into the desiccated corners of my heart.

He kissed me like a suit-clad conqueror, branding and bruising my mouth as though it would stop me from swearing later that I didn’t want him. But I would swear it; I had to to survive.

His hips jerked against me, and the feral grind drew a moan from my throat. Desire laid waste to me as he devoured my mouth like a man who’d been starved, too. And I could almost believe what he’d said. Almost believed what I’d heard about him had been nothing but politically crafted rumors.

Almost.

“Mr. Remington.” A gravelly voice interrupted us, and Damon broke the kiss.

I should move away, but for reasons I didn’t want to acknowledge, I didn’t.

My eyes first found the shards of his, sharpened with so much rage at the interruption, I swore he was about to turn and kill the messenger.Literally.

“Yes,” he clipped low, still holding me to him as we both looked at the man, the rest of our surroundings quickly invading the bubble we’d been absorbed in.

In the distance, I caught the drone at the opposite end of the room. I wondered when it had moved away…and how long we’d remained locked in that kiss like a ship sinking into dark, treacherous waters.

“Mr. Belmont would like to invite you to speak with him at his offices on Monday.” I recognized the man who spokeas one of the security guards who’d jumped at the first sign that Damon might be a threat.

“I knew he’d see the benefit,” Damon replied, his voice suddenly as smooth as a river winding through a canyon. No trace left in it of the destruction it wrought on me…or any effect that lingered in him. Well, except for one. There was no disguising the thick ridge pressed to my stomach. “Now, if you don’t mind, my wife and I have some things we need to finish.”

The guard’s block-like features shifted to me for a second before grunting and walking away.

“Let me go,” I hissed as soon as he was out of earshot. I wasn’t just talking about physically. I wanted him to let all of me go—the desire for my body, the claim to my name, and his quest for my heart.

“Careful, Robber,” he murmured, hauling me to him once more, his face notched at the crook of my neck. “They’re watching.”

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