Page 146 of Darling Venom
I’d sunk into that silver, drug-scented fog again.
My knees grew weak.
My bones melted.
Somewhere in the back of my head, I knew this was not a good idea.
“I have a confession to make, too.”
Kinetic energy sizzled between us.
He didn’t interrupt my flow of words.
I wished he would.
“I want you to,” I whispered.
All it would take was one step, and everything would change. We both knew that, so neither of us took it. We just stood there, entranced.
I’d started to think the kiss would never happen when Tate finally took a step forward to the corner of the room. Out of the aisle.
I still didn’t move.
He rounded the shelf, standing in front of me. He wore a full-blown gray suit.
“One last chance to run,” he hissed, his blue eyes darkening.
I made a point of not moving an inch here or there.
He picked a book off of the shelf—The Merchants of Souls—and used it to cover both our faces as he yanked me to his hard body, pressing my waist against his. He grabbed the front of my neck almost punishingly, possessively.
Then his lips crashed down on mine like a thunderstorm.
It felt like my body was about to burst with adrenaline as his hot, expert lips closed in on mine, greedily. He sucked my tongue into his mouth, releasing a feral groan that bounced on the mosaic ceiling.
I grabbed his face with both my hands, desperate to get closer. The book dropped on the floor. He backed me against the shelf that served as our confession booth, pinning me between his arms as he grabbed my jaw and deepened our kiss.
His tongue stroked mine with intent, and he pressed himself to me. He was hard. So hard, my mouth watered and my body arched, begging for more.
I should be running to the office before my lunch break ended, but I couldn’t, for the life of me, snap out of this moment.
It was angry, and frantic, and everything.
I pushed eight years of frustration into him, and he delivered it back, tenfold.
“Sugar, cookies, cypress,” he talked into our kiss.
I knew exactly what he was listing.
I smiled, tugging at his lower lip. “Sandalwood, bonfire, citrus… sex.”
“Sex, huh?” His voice was husky and groggy. “I’ll show you sex.”
He grabbed the back of my thighs and pulled me up, trying to get me to wrap my legs around his narrow waist. I was sure I was too heavy for him. I attempted to plant my feet on the carpeted floor, but he just yanked more forcefully and wrapped me around him.
“I’m heavy,” I whimpered.
“You’re perfect.”
