The moment Naomi's eyes met his, she was toast. Burnt toast. The kind that sets off the smoke alarm and has the neighbors wondering what fresh hell you've gotten yourself into this time.
He was a kingpin, a power player in a world hidden beneath the...
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It's not fear—nah, I've stared fear in the face before and spit in its eye. This is something else, a pull that's got my stomach twisting and my breath hitching. It's like he's seeing right through me, stripping me bare, and fuck if it ain't making me want to give in, to surrender.
And so, I surrender. I surrender, and I burn.
My pulse is a traitor, drumming against his fingers like it's trying out for the world's most ill-timed marching band. It's shouting, 'Take me, I'm yours...but can we stop for a sec so I can catch my breath and maybe check my lipstick?'
The city's a mess—trash and damp asphalt—but it all blurs as I focus on him. Sylas. Infuriating, sinfully sexy, holding me like I'm his personal stress ball. He towers over me, his large, rough hand around my neck, a grip that's dominant, possessive, and a silent 'I'm-about-to-kiss-you-senseless.'
His thumb finds the sensitive spot where my pulse throbs, applying just the right amount of pressure. He caresses the point, circling and pressing, drawing out a gasp from deep within me. It's like he's unlocked a secret part of me, discovering the hidden key to my desires. My body responds with a will of its own, igniting like dry tinder, as if he's just whispered the secret password to my very core. It's not a touch meant to claim or control, but to explore and ignite. And hell, it's working.
My eyes are doing that thing where they just give up and shut, head making sweet, sweet love to the cold-as-hell brick wall. I'm pretty much serving myself up with a side of 'please, sir, can I have some more?' And oh Gosh, is my body enjoying the all-you-can-eat buffet. Breathing? Who needs oxygen when you can have this instead? Coherent thought? Adorable concept, next question, please.
"I just...needed some air, alright? A girl's gotta breathe, even if it means disappearing for a hot sec," I say opening my eyes to meet his, waving a hand towards the mouth of the alley like it's a living, breathing excuse just waiting to be let off the hook.
The neon lights from the street cast a flickering glow on the damp brick walls, making the shadows dance around us. It's like we're in our own twisted little world, where the normal rules don't apply, where anything could happen. His eyes, search mine, looking for any sign of resistance or fear. But all he finds is desire, reflecting his own.
My hand is gripping his soft hoodie, knuckles bleaching white, like if I just hold on tight enough, I can keep myself from spinning out. Obviously, I can't. Not with him pinning me in place, his body heat licking through me like a goddamn inferno. I can feel every sculpted, insistent inch of him, turning my brain into scrambled eggs. I try to swallow, but my mouth is dry, so I drag my tongue over my lips instead, watching as his gaze drops to follow the movement, dark and hungry. It's nasty, the way he's looking at me like he wants to eat me alive.
