Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance (27 page)

This time it starts soft but—how can I describe it? How can something be soft but rough at the same time? Slow but demanding. Insistent. Gentle but with a wave of violent longing just underneath the surface?

It hits me that maybe I'm not just describing Gray.

Is this how I feel? Is this what's going on inside of me?

His lips press onto mine, and I can't help but open to him. I part my lips, just slightly—but it's enough. He slides his tongue inside me, just a bit, just a taste.

I moan. I want more.

When I make that sound, he growls back. God, we've barely touched and I feel like an animal already. We skipped right over words into growls, sighs, heavy breathing. Maybe this is what he meant by getting out of my head. Because I'm definitely not thinking right now. I'm just feeling, existing. He's warm and big and cradling me. My body is suddenly
alive
. I kiss him back, fiercely; we're at turns sweet and slow, then violent and hard. Like I can't press enough into him; like he can't touch enough of me.

I could kiss him forever.

He's so tall, so broad. I have to lean back like I'm looking up at the sky, just to meet his lips. He moves and one large hand cradles the back of my head, supporting me…and drawing me closer. His other arm wraps around my middle, and I realize he's angling me closer, pulling me into him, pushing deeper into me.

And he's hard. Oh my God, he's hard
everywhere
. I can feel his hard-on pushing into my stomach, but instead of recoiling, I like it. I move closer. It's huge and terrifying and also awe-inspiring. Did I cause this? Does he get this way for everyone, or just for me?

What would he say if he knew I'd never really dated? That I'm more familiar with my vibrator than any man?

It doesn't matter. I'll never tell him. One month, two tops, and I'm out of here.
I'll
be the ghost now, just like Gray was for the past seven years…
Then he lifts me up in his arms and I wrap my legs around his waist and my words, my thoughts, are gone like smoke. I grasp his shoulders, his arms. The silk of his suit slides under my fingers, but I make a fist and hang on. He must like that, because he growls again, and the sound resonates in my chest, my head, between my legs.

There are people talking outside, somewhere down on the street. Laughter, shouting, a car horn blaring. But none of it exists, not here.

In fact, my shitty apartment is disappearing.

All I can feel is my body moving, writhing, contained in his arms. Trapped, and loving it. His tongue invades my mouth. His large, capable hands are cupping my ass, moving me closer, lifting me up and down so I ride the behemoth I feel between my legs. I press against it, suddenly wanting heat and pressure and friction between my legs. I moan into his mouth when I grind down on his ridiculously hard cock. But it feels so good. I move my hips faster, I bite him like he bit me—

Gray pulls back suddenly, his chest heaving, his molten eyes staring at me.

He looks shocked.

Aroused.

There's color on his cheeks, and I realize his dark blonde hair looks like he's just been wrestling with a woman between the sheets…

And that woman is
me
.

And then it hits me what we're doing. We're one inch away from my bed and I want him to throw me down on it. I want—if I'm honest with myself—I want everything. I want him to pull my jeans off, part my legs, bury himself inside me like I've imagined it over the years.

But what happens if I let him in? It won't just be sex. I'm already half in love with him as it is—or, half in love with a ghost.

I have no idea who this man is. I have no idea what he does, or why he married me.

All I know is he was forced into it and it's just a sham. I can't let myself lose control, because if we become intimate, if we act like husband and wife, once this ends I'll never get over it.

"Stop," I gasp. I put my hand over my wildly beating heart.

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Shotgun Wedding
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