Page 111 of Shamed
“Do you think I could defend myself?”
“I do.”
I nod, sliding my leg so it lays between his. “Then kiss me.”
“What?”
“I said, kiss me.”
The frown reappears, and I see a thousand refusals on his tongue before he opens his mouth. “You don’t want that.”
I palm his cheek, pressing in closer. “Yes, I do.”
Somuch.
The air surrounding us heats as his eyes dart to watch my tongue poke out and drag across my lips. I move my leg again, brushing it against his shorts, where I feel him thickening.
This is far from the woman I usually am, far from the woman he first saw in the club, but it feels natural to be with him this way.
He unlocked something in me, and until the temporary reprieve is over, and all the shit I’ve buried away resurfaces, I will take advantage of this brave person I’ve somehow become.
I lean closer, my fingers trailing over his cheek, then just as quickly as he spun me around and trapped me against his chest, he flips us over so I’m now underneath him. My arms are pinned between his hard torso and my softer one, his palms pressed to the mat beside my head.
His nostrils flare, as if he can scent my arousal . . . or fear. My body is still a little confused and doesn’t seem to know whether it wants to buck him off me or buck on top of him.
Just like the last time his solid form had me pinned down, my first reaction is a flash of worry, like it takes a moment for everything to readjust in my mind.
But then I stare into his dark orbs, and I see everything he is—and everything he’s not—and relax.
This is Mase, the man who has been caring for me since before he even realized who I was, back when he gave me the card in the club.
Lifting my head, I press my lips softly to his, a stuttered breath leaving his chest like he’s fighting it. I can feel his heart pounding, cock thick between my legs.
“Jayne.”
My skin is heated, the desperate need to break through his walls and feel him touch me burns in my veins.
“Kiss me,” I whisper against his lips, then press my mouth to his cheek and chin.
Another beat passes before he answers, “I told you, I’m messed up.”
Dropping my head to the mat again, I peer up at him. Doesn’t he understand the fact that he goes to such great lengths to not hurt anybody is evidence that he’snotbad?
“Not to me.” I lick my lips, watching his eyes track my tongue again.
Finally, with a low sound scraping through his throat, he breaks, dropping his mouth to mine in a desperate, all-consuming kiss. His tongue plunges into my mouth to explore, dancing with mine.
Passion and need pour from him as his lips move.
It’s hard to believe he’d never kissed anyone properly before me.
I try moving my hands up from between us to touch his neck or face or anywhere there’s skin, but as soon as I make any contact, Mase grips my hands in one of his and shoves them to the mat above my head.
I’m stuck, with no way of escaping, my breasts pushing against his chest with every breath taken.
He pulls back, eyes half-lidded, even as the war rages inside them. Conflict, longing, want, self-hatred. I’m most familiar with the latter.
“Is this what you wanted?” he breathes out, lips reddened. “To push me to the limit?”
