Page 121 of The Night Shift
Theo nudges his nose against the sensitive curve of my neck, his breath hot and heavy. “You have three seconds before I back off.”
I almost tell him to fuck off again. Ishouldtell him to fuck off. This has already gone too far as it is.No, I think.No, Theo. You may NOT take my top off. That’s what I should say. It’s the right thing to do. But it’s as though the words are stuck somewhere between my throat and my stomach, caught in that damn knot that I can’t untangle. I want this.I want —
“Holly,” he warns, backing away slightly.
“Yes.” I tighten my legs around him, pulling him back in. “Take it off.”
Within an instant, my scalpel is somehow back in his grasp. He brings the cool steel up to the neckline of my corset and drags downward, tearing it down the front and off my body, careful not to nick any part of my skin.
“Theo!”
He leans back slightly, still holding me against the wall with his hands and his hips. His eyes are glued to my tits as if they’re the eighth wonder of the world.
“What is wrong with you? That was expensive?—”
“Your turn,” he cuts me off, eyes still down.
“What?”
Finally, he looks up, his eyes catching mine with an intensity that knocks the air out of my lungs. He hands me the scalpel, cold and heavy in my palm. “Seems only fair.”
His grip shifts, one hand sliding down to press firm against my stomach, keeping me pinned as his other moves between us.With slow, deliberate movements, he untucks his shirt from the front of his pants, shaking it loose, waiting.
Oh.Oh.
I can feel my heartbeat trip over itself. Is he serious?
“What’s the matter, love? Scared you might hurt me?”
Without hesitating, I grab the collar of his shirt, fisting the fabric in my hand and drag the blade down, slicing through cotton, tearing it off him. The sound is sharp in the silence, and I watch as the fabric rips away from his bare chest, exposing the smoothness of his skin, and falls to the ground. The tip of my scalpel bites into the top part of his chest. A small cut compared to a stab wound.
Hehissesand shuts his eyes. But he doesn’t pull away.
No.
Instead, hegrins. Wide and wicked, like I’ve given him exactly what he wanted. He opens his eyes and his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. “Atta girl.” And then he’s kissing me again.
There’s nothing soft about it. He fucking devours me. I hate the way I whimper into his mouth. I hate that I want more. It’s like he’s pouring gasoline into my veins and setting me on fire. Every nerve in my body is on edge, my pulse hammering in my ears.
Our chests press together, heat radiating between us. My arms slip from around his neck, fingers trailing down, eager, desperate tofeelthe rest of him. Hard muscle. Warm skin. The faint tremor in his breath when my nails graze over the fresh cut on his chest.
He sets my legs down, one at a time. My knees threaten to give, and before I can register the loss of contact, he takes my hands, guiding them into his hair.
Then his mouth is on me again — trailing down my neck so slow. So agonizingly slow. Fuck. Moonlight creeps in throughthe half-open blinds, casting pale silver across our tangled silhouettes. He moves lower. Over the lace of my red bra, his breath hot against my skin. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve thought about this, Holly?” He lightly kisses the sensitive skin at the edge of my bra. “About making you come on my fingers and my tongue. My cock.” He bites down on the lace of my bra, tugging it away with his teeth. The fabric snaps back against my skin, sharp and teasing.
I gasp, my fingers tightening in his hair, and his responding grin is downright sinful.
“Would you like that, love?” His hand slides up, finding the strap of my bra. “My cock pumping in and out of your dripping cunt till you can’t walk?” His fingers skimming along the lace strap. He pauses. Glances up. Waiting.
I press my lips together, refusing to say it. Refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Theo’s eyes narrow. His grip falters, like he’s about to pull back, about to make good on some silent threat —
I fist his hair, keeping himright where I want him.
His mouth curves. His fingers move with maddening precision, pulling down the first strap. Then the second. I want to scream at him and tell him to go faster. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. To tell him how I feel every inch of his touch, every graze of his finger, like it’s not just my skin that’s on fire but my entire fucking soul.
He palms my breast, squeezing and rolling my nipple between his fingers while his tongue lightly flicks the other. My fingers dig harder in his hair. God,fuck.
