Page 696 of One More Kiss

Regretfully, the outer shell of Tomás Souza leaves me speechless. The athletic package is every girl's fantasy. Until you dig deeper into his cavernous chest where his dead heart hangs. That coal textured muscle belongs in a predator to match the flash of fire behind his eyes.

Slowly, he lowers his hand and wets his lips with his tongue. “You’ll be glad those boys didn’t waste your time with childish kisses.” He sounds tired and tortured, as if he’s spent too many nights searching for a high that doesn’t exist. A euphoric thrill that surpasses narcotics, alcohol, and sex.

Perhaps he’s finally found it in the control he has over me. “You deserve a man. A man who will teach you obedience and match your fight. A man who will fuck you properly.”

“And you’re that man?” I say indignantly, scampering off the bed and glancing at the locked door.

A grunt bursts from the back of his throat, almost in a laugh without giving it the light of day. “Going somewhere?”

“Getting off on your new perversion?” I retort, crossing my arms over by breasts.

His bare feet slap the tiles as a furious storm of musk and flesh lunges at me.

I dart sideways.

He easily catches me.

My heart leaps into my mouth when he grips my throat and reverses me into the wall. His solid form pins me in place and in a fleeting second, I witness his shoulders prickle with goosebumps.

I smother his wrist with my palm and dig short nails into his skin, helplessly trying to free the hold. His unforgiving grip makes it difficult to swallow until I stop struggling.

The second I surrender; the harsh pressure weakens and the lump in my throat freely bobs against his palm.

“I hate you,” I hiss with venom.

He stays perfectly still. Our bodies pressed together, my chin elevated, and our eyes locked on each other’s.

“You think I’m the bad guy, right?” His mouth dips to the side of my face. “So, why do you look at me the way you do?” His husky voice catapults tingles over my scalp. “Why did you inhale my dick like it was your last fucking meal if you hate me so much?”

I try to break our fiery connection by looking away. “It’s called survival.”

He nudges my jaw, realigning my gaze with his, and cocks an eyebrow. “Do you think kneeling before me with your fuckable mouth and sexy golden eyes would spare your life, or worse, that I’d choose to keep you in my bed?” His mouth closes in on my ear. Warm breath welcomes a deceiving shudder, and my skin visibly prickles.

I bare my teeth. “I’d rather stitch my mouth shut than let you do that to me again. The only reason I kneeled before you was that familiar look in your eyes. You were wrangling demons and couldn’t find a way out of your head. In hindsight, it was a stupid move.” Our gazes clash, rich molasses to spirited hazel. “I hated every second of it,” I lie.

We stare at each other without speaking. Only our chests collide as we inhale and exhale in tandem. My pulse jumps when his head tilts a fraction. A slow, featherlight finger traces my sternum, becoming idle at the seam of the towel shielding gooseflesh.

“Is that so?”

“Strap me up to a lie detector test.” My left eyebrow hitches. “Oh wait, that’s not your style. You’d rather use wild animals.”

I return his cryptic glare, my hateful glower shooting trillions of frozen arrows that only melt in the tempting heat his body radiates. We both hesitate in a defiant standoff—me unwilling to show my freakish emotions, and him quietly calm except for the solid arousal stabbing my hip. Sparks ignite from skin to skin.

Before I can question his silent assessment, he strips the towel from me in one firm, abrupt act. I hear it swoosh and land beside us. I’m on fire. The insanity of his magnetism sizzles under my skin. It's uncontrollable—a vapor of intrigue, so toxic and hedonistic.

“I’ll put a million dollars wager on your tight little cunt being perfectly wet all over again.” A ghost of a smile plays out before me, then vanishes. “Your body delivers a different message than your mouth. Those hard nipples and sexy as fuck moans were all signs of how turned on you were. Isn’t that right, Carina Ferreira from Manaus?”

When I narrow my eyes at him, his own turn feral. “That doesn't mean I like you. I’m not crazy.”

“Perhaps you’re not crazy, but I am.”

Then, for the first time in my life, violent lips descend. They crash on top of mine. A bullish tongue drives inside so our saliva becomes a hybrid of corruption and seduction. He tastes of sweet alcohol and ruined decadence.

My limbs are fluid. No longer owning the power to fight against this man. The pathetic heart hammering in my chest levitates in a coffin of danger. Yet it doesn’t wilt, it oscillates with passion.

I want his lips. I want all of him.

I’m a melting pot of hormones, adrenaline, and anger. His urgency nearly chokes me with a divine tongue. I whimper, loving and despising it all at once.

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