Page 115 of Seeking Vengeance

Safety and sadness.

Or risk and the possibility of emotional reward.

“I need to think first.” My heart thunders a frantic beat.

I have to decide if I’m going to choose Matthew over my family.

To pick him instead of revenge. Can I choose this gloriously secretive man, with his adamance and determination, in place of everything I’ve ever known and relied on? Can I step toward something that scares the absolute hell out of me?

I glance up at him, desperate to read his thoughts as those dark eyes hold mine.

He drags me closer, forcing my knees to spread around his waist, the material of my dress hitching to the top of my thighs. “We need to discuss it,amore mio.”

“I know.”

“Soon.”

I nod. “But not now.”

His palms add pressure, pressing my crotch into the hard length hidden beneath his zipper. I gasp at the contact, hypersensitive and hungry.

Things are different now. Cautious. Intense.

Yet the underlying energy between us is stronger. The attraction more fierce.

Every inch of me vibrates for him. It hurts to breathe. To refrain from all the luscious thoughts that shouldn’t fester at a time like this.

It’s as if one spark against the kindling of our magnetism will ignite an inferno I’ll never control. A passionate explosion of lips and hands and spirit.

Flames flicker in his eyes, the hellish severity enough to cause arrhythmia.

“You’ll learn to trust me, Layla.” He grinds into me, the friction grazing my clit. “Give it time.” He leans closer, his stubble brushing my cheek as he speaks near my ear. “Until then, let me atone for the secrecy.” A hand slides to my thigh, his calloused palm delving beneath the pool of material at my crotch. “Let me show you how much I need you.”

There he goes again with the need.

The want.

The necessity.

I may willingly succumb to him, but his yearning for me makes me soar. Fly. Free fall.

He slides his fingers beneath the elastic of my panties, skimming my clit before moving farther to part my folds.

“I won’t lose you,” he grates into my hair. “Not over issues that are out of our control.” His lips find my neck. “There are too many things I want to do to you.”

“Then do them.”

“My pleasure.” In a jerk of movement, his hand leaves my flesh. He shoves off the tiles, holding me in his arms to take me with him.

I clutch his shoulders, my legs tight around his waist as he takes three steps and plants my back against the freezing tiled wall. Our lips meet. Our teeth. Our tongues.

He turns rabid, devouring me. His hands on my body. His breath in my lungs.

I gasp. Cling. Claw.

I fight to unfasten his buttons only to be stopped when he hefts my dress over my shoulders. He throws the material to the floor, his hips strong and adamant against mine, his lips finding my neck.

He licks. Sucks. Bites.

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