Cruel Intoxication (Underground Kings 4)

“There is one thing I want to try if you’re okay with it,” he says.

I lift my eyes to his just as his thumb rubs across my bottom lip, and my heart thumps when my brains puts two and two together.

“Can I kiss you? Is that something he did? No pressure, I swear.”

I shake my head. “No, he never did that. I’ve … I’ve never been kissed,” I admit, cheeks heating from my innocent admission. I’m glad the man never kissed me. He said it was too personal and would make me love him.

Love him.

Disgusting, egotistical man. As if I could ever love a man who did what he did to me.

“I’m glad,” he says, taking a seat next to me. The mattress dips from his weight, and his hand lands on my knee. “I’m glad he didn’t take that from you too. Selfishly, I’m glad to be the first one to touch them, if you’ll allow me.”

I nod absentmindedly. My heart is racing. I feel like I might throw up. My tongue is dry. Not from fear. Well, not that kind of fear.

But what if I do it wrong?

He leans in slowly, inching his face closer to mine. “You can say stop whenever you want, and I’ll stop.”

I swallow, trying to coat the dryness in my throat. I’d give anything for a glass of water right about now. My chest rises and falls in hurried beats, and when his lips are a breath away, he stops.

“You sure?” he asks again, the heat of his words scorching my mouth.

To others, I suppose this seems very clinical and not sexy, but I find him asking for my consent the sexiest thing in the world considering I’ve never had that option before.

Nodding, he cups the back of my head with his hand and his lips fall to mine. I squeeze my eyes shut and tense, but when he lifts his mouth for a second and comes back down, kissing me again, I relax.

His lips are soft, plush, and firm. He turns his head to change the angle, a bit demanding, but patient as he waits for me to relax. I inhale and open my mouth, tilting my head in the opposite direction. Our lips seal together, and it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Owen’s hand moves from the back of my head to my jaw, and I forget about my past, my apprehensions, and let Owen in.

He notices the difference in my body language, how I’m more relaxed and scooted closer to him, then he wraps my arms around his neck, and he tries something else.

He flicks his tongue over my lips, and I gasp in surprise. He takes the opportunity to slide inside my mouth. He tastes of mint and something else, something I can’t quite put my finger on, but I’m loving it. Tentatively, I meet his tongue, wrapping them together in an awkward dance at first because I have no idea what I’m doing.

That’s normal, right?

When I finally get the rhythm down, our tongues slide together effortlessly, and I can’t get enough. I nibble his lip, and he groans down my throat, so I do it again since he likes it so much. His hands rub down my shoulders and grip my biceps, then slide to my waist. I wait for him to try to cop a feel, to lift me up and set me on his lap, but he doesn’t.

Owen keeps his hands in a safe zone, and it makes me kiss him harder. Why is he unlike any man I’ve ever met?

“Come here,” he mumbles against my mouth, and he leans back until his back is flat against the bed.

He’s letting me stay in control.

“I want to keep kissing you, nothing more, babe,” he says, grabbing my jaw to bring me closer to his face. “Just let me feel those lips, and I’ll die a happy man.”

I smile before I kiss him again. He makes me feel like I’m on top of the world, which is really something because I know what the bottom of the world looks like. I lay on top of him and cup his face, languidly kissing him as if we have all the time in the world.

I suppose we do.

My breasts rub against his chest, and my nipples bead, tightening in response to the defined muscle touching me. Sizzle pops the blood in my veins as a new thrill rushes my system.

Lust.

He is turning me on, and that’s something I wasn’t expecting. His arms wrap around my back and pull me against his chest, tight where there is no space between us. That’s when I feel it. The long, thick erection trapped in the prison of his jeans.

I stop kissing.

Stop feeling.