Fight Dirty (Black Rose Kisses 1)

Oh. I blink and look up at him.

“Nothing happened? Really?”

He chuckles, and it’s a low, sexy sound that makes me shiver. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m not wearing anything and he can see that.

“Really,” he says. “You tried your fucking best to make me break my promise to take care of you. You started stripping and trying to rub yourself all over me, and like I said, you didn’t want to put on your pajamas.” He looks at me, his gaze softening a little. “But no, I’m not so hard up for pussy that I’ll fuck someone who’s rolling on E.”

I make a face at the reminder of how stupid it was to just drink something from someone I didn’t know with no idea what it was.

“Okay,” I mumble, a little embarrassed. “Good. And… I’m sorry you had to deal with that shit.”

His expression changes slightly. A moment of silence hangs between us, and he holds my gaze, his eyes trained on my face intently. There’s something churning behind his dark brown irises, some emotion that’s hard to identify.

“It’s okay, Mercy. It’s just… I wouldn’t want my next time with you to happen like that, you know?”

Now that catches me off guard. I remember the time when he came into my room to kiss me and say he wanted more, and this is just further proof that he thinks about it. That he wants me.

He wants there to be another time between us, and he wants it to mean something.

It’s a lot to take in this early in the morning, but I can’t stop thinking about how good he’s been. He slept here beside me all night and didn’t make a move. Apparently I wanted him to, and I have a vague memory of it now that he’s told me it happened, but he didn’t give in. He fended me off and got me to bed, like a fucking gentleman.

Like someone who cares.

The bed shifts as he rolls to the side before sitting up and stretching. His hair is mussed from the pillow, and there are creases on the side of his face. He looks warm and touchable like this, like something I could actually have.

Because the truth is, he’s not the only one who wants there to be another time between us. I can admit that much, even if it’s just to myself.

As he stands, I reach out and catch his wrist, halting him in place. Levi looks down at me, and I shuffle in bed, going up on my knees to kneel in front of him on the bed. The blanket falls away, letting him see that I’m still totally naked.

His eyes roam over my body, and he groans at the sight.

My heart is pounding so hard and fast I can feel it slamming against my ribs.

I wait, breath held, wondering if he’ll take the chance or push me away again, and I’m not disappointed when he uses my grip on his wrist to yank me toward him roughly, sending me crashing into his chest.

There’s a split second of hesitation as our gazes meet, and then we both move for each other at the same time, lips finding each other’s in a hard kiss. I know there are probably still traces of the drug in my system, but I also know that has nothing to do with why it feels so good to kiss him like this.

Heat spreads through me, slow and syrupy, and I moan softly into his mouth, arching up and urging him to take the kiss deeper.

He takes the opportunity, slipping his tongue into my mouth and laying claim there in bold, swift strokes against my tongue. His hands roam down my body, sliding down my back and then lower so he can cup my ass.

The heat is almost searing, and I have the ghost of a memory of him unzipping my dress and the way I wanted his hands on me last night. This is so much better, though. I’m fully aware of everything that’s happening, and I can feel the tightening in my core when he squeezes my ass hard, spreading me open for him just a bit.

I wait with a held breath, hoping he plans to touch me where I want to be touched the most, but instead he moves his hands back up, bringing them around to the front to slide into the sliver of space between us and cup my tits.

With a soft noise of pleasure, I arch forward, pushing them more firmly into his hands. My nipples are hard and pebbled, sensitive and aching when they stroke over the slightly rough skin of his palms.

“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips, sounding almost tortured as he touches me.

A second later, he leans back from the kiss to look down at his hands, watching as his fingers stroke over the soft skin of my breasts and then find my nipples, tweaking them and making me gasp.

“I remember you like that,” he says, and the raspy quality of his voice makes the declaration even sexier. “I pulled and twisted your nipples, and you almost came on the spot last time.”

I swallow hard, because fuck, he’s not wrong. I can remember it too, way more vividly than is probably healthy. I remember the way he played my body like an instrument, making me rise to meet his challenges and rewarding me for it by making me come again and again.

“I still like it,” I breathe back, eyes dark as I look up at him. “I can take a little rough handling.”

He snorts and pinches one nipple between his fingers. “I know you can. There’s nothing fragile about you.”