The Heathen (Preacher Brothers 2)

His expression was stone cold. Hard. But his eyes burned fire.

“I’m the bad guy.”

Yes. Yes, he was.

Long seconds passed, the tension between us so thick it could have been cut into with a knife. And as he stared at me, as I felt my heart racing this war-drum beat, I knew what I wanted. I knew what I wanted Cullen to do.

Kiss me. Take me.

Claim me.

As if he read my mind, he let out this harsh groan, his hand by my head, the gun still in his grasp. The coldness of the metal touched my temple, turning me on even more.

“Fuck,” he groaned to himself right before he slammed his mouth on mine and gave me exactly what I desperately needed.

Chapter Eleven

Cullen

Fuck, what was I doing?

I had my hand cupping the side of her face, tilting her head back and kissing her like I was starving. Like I was dying for her flavor, the feel of her… the very essence of her body.

And I was.

I felt like I was burning alive from the inside out and the only way to extinguish those flames was to make her mine, to take her and claim her. To show her that her strength gave me strength and turned me on more.

I didn’t want to stop kissing her. Never.

I tilted my head to the side and deepened the kiss, stroking my tongue along her lips. How would she feel if she knew this was the first time I’d done this? The first time I’d touched a woman… had my lips on one?

Never breaking the seal of our mouths, I lowered the hand holding the gun and tucked the weapon at the small of my back, inside the waistband of my jeans. The metal was cold against my skin, but it felt good on my overheated flesh.

And then I had both hands cupping the sides of her neck, keeping her stationed as I mouth fucked her with my lips and tongue, dominating the situation.

God, she felt, smelled, tasted incredible.

The little sounds of pleasure she made fueled me on even more. But then reality set in.

I hadn’t been lying when I admitted I was a bad man. I’d maimed, stolen, and hurt to survive. And I’d do those things again and again. It was in my blood, my nature, the very make-up of my DNA.

A bad man.

She was too good for me, too sweet and kind and caring. Despite the way I treated her, the fact that I’d threatened her with my gun, she still persisted, insisted on caring for me.

“Fuck,” I muttered against her mouth and forced myself to pull back. She kept her hands on my waist, her nails digging into my flesh as she tried to keep me close. I stared into her face, her expression drug-like, euphoric.

“You stopped,” she whispered in a thick, pleasure-laced voice. Her lips were red and swollen, glossy from what I’d just been doing to them.

Kissing her like I was hungry, starving.

“Why’d you stop?” Her eyes were partially closed, but I could see her pupils were dilated.

She wanted more. She wanted me.

Fuck, I wanted this so damn much, but this unknown fear gripped me. I was dizzy, my heart raced, my cock throbbed, and my balls were drawn up tight. I’d never experienced this before, and even though it was this unusual feeling, I knew I didn’t want it to end.

I didn’t answer her, just pressed my chest back to hers and growled low and in need when I felt how hard her nipples were. I slammed my mouth on hers, stroked the seam of her lips with my tongue, silently urging her to open for me. And she did. Fuck, did she ever.

I turned us away from the wall and slid my hands down to her ass, gripping the lush, curved mounds in my big palms. I felt how she rose up on her toes, her belly sliding against my hard dick.

Another groan was ripped from me, and I kissed her even harder.

“I’ve never done this.” I growled the words again and again, those four words leaving me of their own accord. I couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stop myself.

I didn’t want to.

I found us by the kitchen island. Thank fuck it was already cleaned off, because I lifted Kimber up and set her sweet ass right on the granite. She spread her legs for me, and I grunted as my hard dick came right in contact with her pussy. It didn’t matter that there were clothes between us, stopping me from feeling her bare, raw.

I would soon enough.

It was hard as fuck—literally and figuratively—but I pulled away from her, my hands on either side of her hips, the granite warming under my outstretched palms. I stared into her face, her cheeks flushed, her pupils dilated, and her eyes wide. Her lips were swollen and glossy from my kiss, and this groan ripped from me at the sight, at knowing I was the one who made them look like that.