Page 182 of Tempting Venom
My sanity included.
“Do you know what you’re saying, Preston?” The words scrape out low in my throat, tight and uncontrolled.
He brushes his lips against mine again, a single breath, a warmth that floods the cold, wet rain. “Hm.”
“Oh, baby. You’re truly fucked.”
Preston slams me against him as he whispers, “Maybeyouare.”
Perhaps that’s true.
Perhaps I’m driving down a dark road with no headlights on.
But if I get to crash into him, it’s worth it.
After tonight, Preston will be fully, categorically, and undeniably fuckingmine.
25
PRESTON
If anyone asks me how the hell I made it here, I wouldn’t have the answer.
It justhappened.
Blame my brain.
My nonexistent sanity.
And this asshole of a man I can’t seem to possess the physical ability to resist.
No idea how the fuck we ended up in his room, because he was kissing me all the way up, devouring my face, pulling on my hair, helping me get rid of my wet clothes.
They were littering the stairs as he shoved and pressed me against the wall, touching me everywhere, kissing anywhere his lips could reach until I was shaking.
But God fucking dammit. I thought I was intense, and I am. You should see me when I kill. Even Jude says I turn into this manic person with zero fucking chill. But that’s mild compared to the force of nature that is Marcus Osborn.
He doesn’t justkissme, he seems to be on a mission toownme, his fingers digging into my jaw or fisting in my hair, his tongue not only warring with mine, but taming it.
His hands don’t just remove my clothes, they strip me bare as he thrusts them into the fabric of my soul, toying,curling, on the verge of spilling my insides right before his feet.
It isn’t until he shoves me onto the bed, my hard cock pointing toward the ceiling, that I realize I’m fully naked and he’s still wearing his jeans and a damp white shirt that sticks to his taut muscles.
I prop up on my elbows as he watches me while unbuttoning his jeans, his breaths ragged and rough in the silence, only punctuated by the pouring rain outside.
His damp dark hair falls in haphazard strands across his forehead from how much I pulled and raked my fingers through it.
“You know how you look right now?” His low-spoken words send a shiver down my spine, and I have to force my eyes from his jeans to his face.
“Don’t say I look pretty,” I grumble, that familiar tightness churning my stomach.
He tilts his head to the side. “Why not?”
“I just don’t want to hear it,” I whisper. “Not now.”
I’m scared if he says it while looking at me with those dark, hungry eyes, I’ll be thrown back to that room of stars where I couldn’t breathe.
The idea sends a rush of nausea up my throat.
