DEADLY DECEPTION

CHAPTER 34

(AVERY'S POV)

I grabbed him by the collar and kissed him.

Rick stiffened for a split second—just a fraction of hesitation—before he snapped.

His hands shot up, gripping my face, pulling me in like he needed me to breathe. The kiss was hard, raw, brutal—a clash of anger and desperation, pain and something darker, deeper.

He kissed me like he hated me for making him feel. Like he was trying to drown out every ghost, every fucking nightmare with my lips.

My fingers curled into his shirt, clutching, pulling, holding. I felt his heartbeat slamming against my palm, the sharp rise and fall of his chest against mine. His breath was hot, uneven, wrecked.

His grip tightened—too hard, too desperate. Like he didn't trust himself to let go.

I slid a hand into his hair, threading my fingers through the strands, tugging, needing more.

Rick let out a low growl—a sound so deep, so guttural, it sent heat pooling between my legs. His hands dropped to my waist, gripping, yanking me closer, until there wasn't a breath of space between us. The solid heat of him—hard muscle, raw strength—pinned me in place.

I gasped against his mouth, and that was all it took.

Rick bit my lip, his teeth dragging over the sensitive skin before his tongue slid in, demanding, taking, claiming.

I pulled back, gasping for air, my entire body on fire.

My lips felt swollen, tingling from the force of Rick's kiss, from the way he had taken, consumed, fucking owned every breath I had left in me. My chest rose and fell, desperate for oxygen, but it didn't feel like enough. Nothing felt like enough.

Rick was the same—panting, his pupils blown wide, his jaw clenched like he was barely holding himself together.

His hand shot out, gripping the back of my neck, dragging me in again, crashing his lips onto mine like he was punishing me for stopping. This kiss was even rougher, more desperate—a silent demand, a fucking claim.

He kissed me like he was starved, like he was drowning, like he had spent years fighting this and now, he didn't give a single fuck anymore.

His hands burned into my skin, fingers pressing, holding, keeping me where he wanted. He groaned against my mouth when I bit his lip.

Fuck. I was losing my mind.

I could feel the heat of his body, the sharp press of muscle against me, the sheer power of him caging me in. His tongue swept against mine, rough, demanding, fucking merciless. My fingers curled into his hair, pulling, needing, matching his hunger with my own.

I wanted more. More of this. More of him.

I didn't know how long we kissed—seconds, minutes, eternity—before he finally ripped himself away, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath ragged and uneven.

"Don't come," Rick muttered, his voice wrecked. Rough. Pleading.

I blinked, still dazed. "What?"

His grip tightened on my waist. Not letting go.

"The gala. Don't fucking come."

His words crashed into me like ice water.

I exhaled sharply, my hands pressing against his chest, pushing him back, shoving myself out of his grip.

I needed air. I needed to fucking breathe.

Rick's eyes locked onto mine—dark, unreadable, dangerous. His chest still rose and fell with heavy breaths.