Page 23 of Hostile Love
Dark, damp hair drapes his relaxed brow, the tips teasing a cut above his eyebrow.
A shadow of unshorn stubble darkens his strong jaw and those lips…those pouty lips of his…so full and wet are temptation in the rawest form.
Inwardly, I swear at myself. The way I’m breathless and my heart is thumping is pathetic.
Rather than indulge in the sight of his bare chest, I should grab the gun and tell him to get the fuck out of here.
But he looks so peaceful. Godlike in his natural pose and manly with war wounds and battle scars.
A real warrior—the guy who had my back and rallied an army to save me—out of duty.
I tiptoe even closer, making sure I stay in the shadows, so he wouldn't see me if he opened his eyes. The ache in my belly intensifies, not helped by the butterflies in my chest.
I bite my bottom lip and curl my fingers into a tight fist to stop myself from teasing open the towel.
God, the urgent desire to slip my hand underneath it and skim the satiny crown of his dick has me shamefully wet.
The man I’m in love with is lying before me, vulnerable in sleep and semi-naked. The fact he doesn't know I’m here makes me hotter than ever.
I’m imagining all the dirty things I could do to him––the relief I’d get from having him pounding into me. It’s all here before me—in touching distance.
But the cut he made across my heart is gaping wide open, and I’m more vulnerable than him.
My soul begs for him to mend it. To medicate the pain I’m in and fix the impossible rift between us.
I swallow hard.
Matheus made his decision to marry my sister—without even asking her first. Yet I think about the man even when I should forget him.
But fuck, it doesn’t have to stop me from having him one last time.
After all, he’s in my bed. In my room. In my family home.
I frown at that thought.
Why the hell is he still here and not in a fancy hotel?
Matheus paid an unforgivable price to learn important secrets. He should be getting to know my sister. The woman he picked over me.
My stomach churns and my heart hurts even more.
I stand frozen for what feels like an age, thinking things through. His chest lifts and falls with every shallow breath he takes, and I inwardly battle the addiction I have for him.
My skin is hot and my swollen clit throbs as I watch him from the shadows, considering my options.
Fall for him again. Taste the deception on his tongue and let it be my closure. Or redress, gather cash and weapons, then walk out the door without ever looking back.
He’d never even know I was here.
With adrenaline pumping loud in my ears, I lean over him and bring my nose close to his neck.
He smells different. Minty and fresh from a recent shower.
I inch a little closer and hover my face over his, aware my pointed nipples could brush against his chest if I dip a fraction lower.
Chills flurry over my scalp and the burn of lust takes hold.
I want this man too much. Maybe I should end this once and for all, on my own terms.
