Page 84 of Curvy Cabin Fever
What we see makes me stop in my tracks.
Rhett and Morgan.
Together.
Morgan’s hands are in Rhett’s hair, pulling him closer. Rhett’s thighs are spread, his body arching forward, one hand gripping the back of Morgan’s neck like he’s drowning in the kiss. Their mouths are open, tongues moving slow and deep.
It’s real.
And it’s so fucking hot I nearly forget how to breathe.
Damien doesn’t move.
I glance up at him, expecting shock—or maybe tension—but what I see instead is hunger. That same edge that’s been simmering since the café.
He leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Get upstairs. Now.”
I blink. “Damien?—”
“Upstairs,” he growls, voice thick and dark. “Now, Aria. Before I fuck you right here in front of them.”
I swear I almost melt right through the floor.
30
ARIA
Ibarely make it off the stairs before Damien grabs me.
He doesn’t speak—he just grabs my waist and spins me to face him. His mouth crashes into mine, hard and hungry, his hands already sliding down my ass, squeezing hard, claiming and owning me.
I moan into his mouth, my fingers tangling in the front of his jacket. He kisses with raw purpose—no hesitation, no room to breathe, just pure need.
He breaks the kiss with a growl, lips slick and swollen, eyes wild.
“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he rasps, voice rough like gravel.
“Then do something about it,” I breathe, my audacity surprising even me.
I shouldn’t poke the beast.
Something flashes across his face, and I can’t work out if it’s that I’m a challenge, his hunger, or determination.
Then he grabs me again and hauls me up into his arms like I weigh nothing, which is difficult to do. My back hits the wall just outside the bedroom door. His mouth finds my throat, bitingjust hard enough to make me gasp, then soothing the sting with his tongue.
“You want it rough, baby?” His voice is low, threatening in the most delicious way. “You sure?”
“Yes,” I gasp, my head falling back against the wall. “Yes, Damien. I want you to lose control.”
That’s all it takes.
He kicks open the bedroom door and tosses me on the bed. Not gently. Not cruelly. Just…like he can’t fucking wait to have me. Like one more second of waiting might kill him.
I bounce against the mattress, breathless, watching as he tears off his jacket and throws it to the floor. His flannel follows, then his shirt—muscle after muscle exposed in the flickering light from the window. A roadmap of scars I want to trace with my tongue. His body is a weapon. And it’s all mine.
“Clothes. Off.Now.”
The order sends a pulse through me, straight between my legs. I scramble to obey, stripping fast—my sweater, my leggings, everything tossed to the floor. My hands shake, fumbling with my bra clasp.
