Kiss Me Dangerous

35| Rules and Ruins

Lola

It was a lustful yearning that filled the gaps between our bodies, my words a consequence and a commitment as the colour in his eyes sparked like a firework in a pitch-black sky. Under the soft yellowish glow of my bedside lamp and sat atop my floral bedsheets, Freddie King was equal parts the monster I had been warned about and the man that wanted to fuck me. It was a heavy need that filled the air around us, teasing our bodies together, tormenting his restraint as the wildness of his will tore straight through any pretence of honour he had left, inching closer and closer to taking everything he wanted without having to pay the price for what it would do to me.

"You shouldn't have said that." He rasped, his eyes shuttering closed for a moment. "You really, really shouldn't have said that." He repeated, his words lined with warning as he began to unravel right on top of me.

Looking up at him like this, trapped beneath the strength of his body—I should have been scared of all that he was capable of doing. It didn't matter that he had spent most of this evening being nice to me, that he had taken the time to drive me around and buy me things, and that he had gotten dinner for me and my family. He was still a gangster at the end of it all—he was still a man that gave only to receive and I'd already seen first-hand just how brutal that sort of relationship with him could be.

Not that my sleep-deprived brain cared in the slightest.

My survival instincts were washing away under the undiluted promise of his desire and how easily it could satisfy me, my own wants wrapped up in a tangle of delirium and the thrill of the dangerous aura that came attached to him.

It was a practised skill to be the type of man he was—it was a violent inclination that thrummed through every part of him, a vicious lesson in corruption that he relearned over and over again, and somehow in between the soft little act he had put on for me, I had managed to melt right into the palms of his hands.

Still, he was probably right that I should have kept my mouth shut.

I definitely shouldn't have been antagonising him, especially when he was in my house and in my bed, but even as I came to that realisation—in the blurred lines between logic and lust, and in the little moments we had shared in the past few hours we had spent stuck together, right now he didn't seem enough of a threat to stop me from continuing whatever this was.

Right now, my head was reeling from all the parts he had revealed about himself in such a small amount of time—from the fact that he had gone as far as telling my mother that he wanted to marry me, to the definitiveness in his voice when he told her he could give me anything I wanted.

So why not this—why was he suddenly choosing to hold himself back from me now?

"And what should I have said instead?" I found myself asking even when the answer was obvious, even when I knew just how much those words would irritate him.

He flashed his teeth in response, like for a moment he thought that maybe it would have been easier for him to tear through my fucking throat than to give me what I wanted. He looked wild almost as his mind churned through the possibilities, like a bear ready to crush all my bones in its preparation to eat me—but even as I lay in the perfect position for all the harm he could do, his touch was warmer and his gaze was much more tender than I had anticipated it to be, the silverish colour of his eyes sparking with hunger and filling to the brim with yearning. So much yearning that I barely even knew what to do with it.

"You should be telling me to leave just like you have been all night." He said even as he continued to pin me beneath him. Even as his weight pressed down on my hips and his arousal for me grew into something concrete—something that had found its home pressed up against my stomach, my own desire for him pooling between my thighs in an embarrassing mess of all the things I wanted him to do to me.