Page 103 of Up in Smoke

“You’ll fuck me?” I repeat in a whisper.

He leans forward to place an open-mouthed kiss on the underside of my jaw. “Into oblivion.” Another kiss. “Senseless.” More kisses and a teasing bite. “Until my lungs give out or you beg me to stop.”

My head rolls back as I shiver through more of his kisses. I’m lost in another universe when he finally reaches his limit and takes either side of my head in his hands. Our mouths are a breath away.

“Yes,” I whisper proudly.

He fists my hair and pulls our lips together. No shy blushing. No long, romantic eye contact. He moves in like he’s been waiting for centuries to do it and finally sees his chance to strike.

I’ve kissed him plenty of times before. Each previous experience was child’s play compared to this.

His tongue invades my mouth, and my inner thoughts wail, as if refusing to give voice to every uninhibited confession for so long pains me. This is what we were denying ourselves. This breath-stealing, heart-stopping, world-shattering kiss.

My trembling hands lift to latch onto his wrists like they hold the steady weight of an anchor. He cups my jaw with such forcethat my brows pinch together. Agonizing and delicious all at once.

It changes everything.

If he wants me, he’s got me. And the way he slows his momentum and melts his lips to mine when my thumbs run a line of rough pressure up the side of his wrists tells me I’ve got him, too. I thought being possessive was a red flag until I felt it myself for the first time, in this moment. That’smyman.Mine.

Broken in some ways, never taken care of the way he deserved to be in others, and mine to protect from now on. Maybe that’s not a job that most women would be eager to take on. But Tripp is different. He’s been hurting for so long and living with the shitty hand life dealt him before he was even born.

Mine to protect. And I’ll die on that hill.

When the lack of oxygen becomes too much, Tripp pulls away. He’s panting right along with me as I work to slow the fast expansions of my chest.

“Don’t move,” he says, forcing himself to peel his hands from my face and stand. “I’ll be right back.”

I nod and place a hand over my heart while he jogs to his walk-in closet. My thighs press together so tightly that my lower abdomen clenches. He continues to rummage around in the closet, and after hearing him spit several inaudible curses, I lean over the side of the bed and reach for the bottle of champagne.

I flinch when the cork pops against my thumb and goes soaring toward the line of Tripp’s hats hanging under a wooden shelf on the wall. Bubbles flow quickly over the top, and I hold it away from the bed, lean forward, and cover them with my mouth.

They sparkle over my tongue. As the fizz dies down, I tip the bottle for a quick swig. When I open my eyes and look down,Tripp is standing in front of me. I pop the open bottle out of my mouth.

“What part ofdon’t movedidn’t you understand, hmm?”

He’s ditched his clothes and hat. My gaze trails slowly up his body—past the distracting valleys of hard muscle, hard length between his legs, and mouth-watering tattoos—until it lands on the playful disapproval on his face.

Domineering confidence oozes from his pores. He tosses a condom on the bed near the pillows. I extend my arm, intending to put the bubbly back in its place, but he snatches it from my fingers.

My mouth drops open. When it comes to women, he may not be the player he once was. But when it comes to me, I don’t think Tripp will ever stop playing games. He’s too good at it. It exhilarates me, and I force myself to inhale a breath and wait for him to turn me over and spank me for moving while he was undressing and finding a condom.

With a smirk, he lowers to his knees in front of me again. “Lean back. Hands on the bed.”

As usual, my body acts quicker than my brain when it comes to taking orders from this man. I might lick a hot wire fence with a smile on my face if he used that voice on me.

With my arms braced behind me, his eyes linger on my pushed-out chest. After making quick work of removing any leftover gold foil, he groans and touches the tip of the cold glass bottle, still coated with my saliva, to my left nipple. It hardens instantly, sending a shivering jolt through my body. I squirm, but his free hand grips the side of my thigh, warning me to stay still.

“Should I put this bottle between your pretty lips?” he asks.

My breaths pick up, but I manage to slowly nod twice. Opening my mouth seems like an obvious next step. He shakes his head.

“Not those lips, honey. Spread your legs.”

Eyes wide and lungs seizing, I do as I’m told. My mouth presses into a firm line as he drags the tip of the bottle down my body.

I should have known Tripp’s unhinged mind knows no limits. I’ve always wanted to bring a few toys into the equation with guys in bed. Something tells me there’s already a future plan for that rolling around in his brain.

A bottle, though? A whimper escapes my throat when the smooth ridges around the rim skim over my clit and through my wet center.

---