Page 103 of Caterina
For one breathtaking moment, the world falls away.
There is no fear. No blood. No memory of men with guns in the hallway of my casino.
There is only Adrian.
His lips on mine, his hand in my hair, the rough texture of his thumb against my cheek. He is solid and real and alive, and kissing him is like coming up for air after almost drowning.
The kiss is gentle at first, then it’s not.
There is a desperate hunger there, a raw need that mirrors my own. I pour everything into it. All the fear I’ve been holding back. All the adrenaline. All the helpless, terrified gratitude for the man lying in this bed with a hole in his side because of me.
His other hand comes up to my waist, fingers splaying against my back, pulling me closer. The movement is awkward, hampered by his injury, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over me.
I press closer, determined to drown it out.
This is what I need.
This is the answer to the cold, sick feeling that has been coiling in my stomach since the first shove at the blackjack table.
I shift on the bed, trying to get closer, trying to erase the last bit of space between us. My knee presses into the mattress, right beside his hip.
His hand slides deeper into my hair, tilting my head, and a soft sound escapes my throat. It’s a sound of surrender, of relief, of finally letting go of the tight control I’ve held onto all night. All week.
Every single damn day of my life.
His thumb strokes my jaw, a slow, deliberate caress that is so at odds with the desperate, consuming need of the kiss. It’s a small, gentle thing, but it feels more intimate than the kiss itself.
I want more. I need more.
I part my lips, a silent invitation he accepts without hesitation.
His tongue sweeps against mine, and a shudder runs through me, a deep, full-body tremor that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with him.
Oh God, I'm so turned on
This is crazy.
I know this is crazy.
I know I’m acting on adrenaline and shock and a dozen other emotions I can’t even name.
I don’t care.
I'm wet and aching with a need that has been building for a while, a need I've tried to ignore, a need that has suddenly become the single most important thing in the world.
My hand slides from the mattress, my fingers searching for the spot where the blanket meets bare skin. I find it, my knuckles brushing against the warm skin of his stomach.
I’m getting caught in a trap of my own making
He makes a sound against my mouth, a low, deep groan that I feel all the way down to my toes. His body tenses beneath my touch, and I can feel the muscles in his stomach contract. His grip on my hair tightens, and he kisses me harder, deeper, with an urgency that matches my own.
He is so warm. So alive.
I want to feel the solid beat of his heart against my palm. I want to trace the lines of the scars on his skin. With my tongue.
He breaks the kiss only to press his lips to my jaw, to the sensitive skin just below my ear. A shiver courses through me. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, my fingers tightening on the waistband of his sleep pants.
I want him. I want him with a desperation that borders on violence.
