Page 25 of Her Name in Red
But then his eyes lock onto mine, and it's like a dam bursts inside him. He grips my throat—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to let me know he could if he wanted to.
Enough that I can't escape even if I try.
Something wild unfurls in my chest, and I have to bite back a gasp of pleasure.
This is what I need—this edge of danger, the thrill of control and surrender twisted into one fucked-up knot. He's right where I want him, and I'm right where I want to be.
“This?” His voice is tight with anger and something that sounds too much like despair. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I whisper, because there's no point in lying about that anymore.
His face is inches from mine, breath mingling until I can't tell which is his and which is mine. “You're insane.”
“So are you.” A smile tugs at my lips again, genuine this time.
His lips crash against mine, and the world falls away. I taste blood where my lip catches on his teeth, metallic and perfect. His fingers grip my hair, pulling hard enough to hurt but not enough to make me stop. Not enough to make me want to.
My body arches against his, reckless and greedy.
His thigh drives between my legs with punishing force, and I grind down against him, a ragged sound escaping my throat. He swallows it down as I'm drowning in the feel of him, the weight and heat and need that radiates from his skin.
I tangle my hands in his dirty blond hair, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
He pushes harder, more demanding now, as if he's trying to own every part of me at once. My back hits the wall again, knocking the breath from my lungs, but I don't care.
He pulls back, breath ragged, and I can see the apology forming on his lips. Sweet, guilty Riggs—thinking he’s gone too far when he hasn’t even scratched the surface.
I lean forward and bite down hard on his lip, drawing blood. It pushes him over the edge, and he’s on me again, mouth ruthless and punishing.
Exactly how I want it.
I sink my nails into his bicep, feeling the muscle tense beneath the skin. I'm rewarded with a groan that vibrates against my lips, raw and primal.
He shoves me harder into the wall, and I gasp at the impact before kissing him back with everything I have.
His hands are everywhere—in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding along my thigh. My fingers claw at his shoulders, his neck, the hard planes of his chest.
His hand slides under my shirt, fingers splaying across my ribs, and for a moment I lose myself in the sensation. Heat blooms wherever he touches, melting the ice I've carefully built around me. It's dangerous, this feeling. More dangerous than anything else we're doing.
I can feel him growing harder against my hip, his breathing ragged and uneven.
With a sudden twist, I reverse our positions, shoving him against the wall with enough force that his head thuds against the plaster. His eyes widen in surprise, pupils blown so wide they've nearly swallowed everything else. I press my body flush against his, one hand gripping his hair, the other trailing down his chest to the waistband of his jeans. His breath hitches, muscles tensing beneath my touch.
“Fuck, Maren,” he gasps, voice wrecked.
I bite his earlobe hard enough to make him hiss. “That's the idea, isn't it?” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of his ear. “What you've been chasing after all this time?”
I pull back just enough to look him in the eye, maintaining the pressure of my body against his. His face is flushed, lips swollen and smeared with my lipstick and both of our blood. He looks completely wrecked, and I've barely started.
I place a single finger against his lips, my nail digging in just enough to sting.
“Well,” I say, my voice steadier than it has any right to be, “that was fun.”
And then I step away.
Just like that. Leaving him panting against the wall, a mess of want and confusion. His lips part, still stained, like he can't believe I'm pulling back when we were just getting started.
“What the fuck?” he growls, reaching for me.
