Page 101 of Vicious Intentions
If we were face-to-face, I don’t think I’d be able to say any of this. Embarrassment would have stolen the words from my mouth before they ever had the chance to form.
But he can’t see me. He doesn’t know how flushed I am, how my skin burns, how something low and aching has taken hold of me just from the sound of his voice. And that… that makes me braver than I’ve ever been.
“I’m running my fingers through your hair,” I murmur, sinking deeper into the image. “Relishing your kiss. But I… I want…”
“What do you want, baby? Tell me,” he commands, the rasp in his voice turning deliciously dark and dangerous.
“Everything.”
He lets out a low growl, as if he were about to devour me whole, and for some reason, the heady image of his teeth sinking into my skin sends my thoughts spiraling.
“Let me taste you. Open your mouth for me.”
In my mind, I pull my fingers away from his hair, just so I can grip his broad shoulders, needing to anchor myself to something as I open myself up for him.
He tells me how his tongue slips into my mouth, how it tries to learn every secret I hold as he gives away all of his to me. The effect he has on me is mind-numbing. The way he paints something so vivid, I almost believe he’s here, in my bedroom, kissing me.
“This won’t hurt… much,” he says, before telling me he’s biting my lower lip, teasing it between his teeth until I pant out his name.
My head spins as my fingers brush over the invisible marks he’s left behind on my bottom lip.
“Bite me again,” I tell him, needing to feel the graze of his teeth on me.
He groans his approval as I imagine him biting into the slope of my neck first, before crashing his lips back to mine. It’s all so enthralling that I’m getting dizzy, the tension inside me coiling tighter, stretching me thin with nowhere to escape.
“Rafe,” I moan out, wanting this fantasy to materialize more than I want my next breath.
But just like that… something changes. It’s slight, almost imperceptible, but I feel it instantly. The sudden absence of heat, the way his tone turns cool and distant, shutting me out without warning.
“I… um… we should stop. It’s getting late.”
My eyelids fly open, as if someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over me.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“No, Anna. You’re… perfect.”
My frown is instant.
“I hate it when people say that. I’m not perfect. I’m not. I’m just… me.”
I punch the mattress, not even sure why I’m so angry. Is it because he ended our fantasy out of nowhere, or because he used the same word I’ve spent my whole life trying to live up to? Either way, I’m livid and unable to hide it.
The line goes quiet as he registers my words.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t say that to hurt you.”
I don’t offer him a reply. Not when it feels like he stole something from me. Like he stole the most beautiful moment I’ve ever experienced.
“Anna, are you there, sweetheart?”
“Yes.”
“Are you angry at me?”
“A little, yes.”
“Is it because of what I said… or because I ended our first kiss?” he asks, echoing my thoughts exactly.
