Chapter 24 All my protests and reasons why we shouldn't kiss leave my mind the moment Ryker's lips collide with mine. His fingers are strong against my neck, his tongue coaxing my mouth open almost instantly. Oh my God. I forgot how good of a kisser he was. His kiss is possessive. And with his lips against mine, I can't lie to him. I want this. Desperately. The first time he ever kissed me, it was sweet and tender. He was confident with it as the clock struck midnight, but that kiss was one that built. It started slow and steady before intensifying. This kiss is the complete opposite. It's angry. Demanding. He kisses me like he's trying to punish me. And maybe he is. I wouldn't blame him. A moan falls from my lips as his free hand grabs the other side of my face and angles it just how he wants it. His tongue angrily delves even deeper into my mouth. This kiss feels like a claim. I know I'm letting him win by letting him kiss me like this, but I want it too badly to even care about admitting defeat. The truth is that I did want Ryker to kiss me. The moment I slammed my door shut and pressed my back to it, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I felt sad at the thought of missing out on the chance to kiss him again, and that feeling turned to anger. I shouldn't feel sad about not kissing Ryker. He'll kiss me like he wants. Like he owns me. And then he'll move on as if it had never happened. And that right there is the problem. I kiss him back, funneling all of my pent-up anger from the last few weeks at him. My fingers roughly grab at the fabric of his dress shirt. I pull his body toward mine, even though we're already pressed against one another. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the ƒind ηøᴠel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. His hips push against mine as he pushes me harder against the wall. It's rough, but I don't care. I can't bring myself to care about anything other than the dance of his tongue against mine. "You don't kiss me like you hate me," Ryker croons, his breathing heavy as he traces his lips down my neck. "I already told you I don't hate you." My words come out breathless. I try to stifle a moan as one of his hands drops to my thigh, but it's no use. I know he heard it. "I just don't like you," I repeat, my stomach tightening as his fingers dance just below the hem of my nightgown. I'm letting him kiss me because I couldn't pretend I didn't want him to for a second longer. But will I let him do more? Can I be okay with that? With pretending it never happened tomorrow? Ryker's mouth is warm against my neck. His breath tickles against my sensitive skin as he lets out a low laugh. "Do you like this?" he asks, his lips pressing to my neck at the same time his fingers dance higher up my leg. I clench my thighs. I don't want him to get too close. I don't want to give him the power of knowing how wet I am right now. The cotton of the boy-short underwear I slipped on to sleep in is drenched. The man has only kissed me, and I can't let him know just how much his kiss has affected me. "Answer me, princess," he drawls. Fuck. Why is that nickname suddenly hot? And why do I suddenly like him making demands? They normally drive me crazy. All I can do is nod my head. I can't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how turned on I am. God, I know he'd throw it in my face and gloat about how wet he made me without ever even touching me. "What about this?" Ryker asks. His teeth rake softly against the hollow of my throat. I moan, the sound quickly turning into a yelp when he bites me. He fucking bites me. His tongue immediately peeks out to soothe the sting. I'm about to open my mouth to ask him if he just bit me when he does it again, this time a little bit lower. I push him away, missing the warmth of his body against mine the moment it's gone. The shove takes him off guard. Or maybe it's that I pushed a little hard. Either way, the backs of his knees collide with the edge of the bed before he falls onto it. "Did you just bite me? You can't do that. You're going to give me a hickey." I press my fingers to my neck, lightly pushing against the tender skin. He smirks and makes no move to stand. I don't know if I want him to get up and close the distance again or if I want him to stay right where he is. Maybe right where he is isn't a good thing. The sight of him on my bed, his eyes filled with lust and determination as he stares at me with that smug grin I love to hate, is making me feel hot with desire. "What's so wrong about that?" he asks before placing his large palms behind him on the mattress. He leans back, and there's something about the position that's incredibly sexy. "Maybe because we're two grown adults. Hickeys are for teenagers. Plus, I'm your publicist. You shouldn't be giving me hickeys." His smirk gets even wider. He lifts one of his hands and holds it out between us. A silent command for me to take it. I shock myself by obliging the silent demand. I push my body off the wall and place my hand in his. What am I doing? I have no freaking clue, but for tonight, I'm in too deep to even stop it. He pulls my body between his widespread legs. "I won't tell anyone if you don't," he murmurs. "That still doesn't address my problem, which is that I'm going to have a hickey like I'm in high school all over again." "Something tells me you weren't letting boys give you hickeys in high school, princess. Let me guess, you were too focused on school to even give any of the poor bastards a second glance. Too busy trying to impress your dad to worry about them." I frown. He's right, but I don't tell him that. The confident smile on his lips tells me I don't have to tell him a damn thing. He can read my face easily enough to know he's right. He closes his thighs, caging me in between his legs as he reaches up to finally fully pull the tie from around his neck. He tosses it to the ground before undoing the top button of his shirt. His fingers deftly work at undoing three of the buttons. I watch him closely, wondering what's happening. Is he undressing right now? Do I want him to? He pulls the collar of his shirt to the side and exposes his neck to me. "Get back at me, then. Give me a matching one." My mouth hangs open. "What?" He cranes his neck to the side, giving me access to his throat. "I wanted you to look in the mirror tomorrow and be reminded of me. Here's your chance to do the same to me." I swallow. Why do I want to accept his offer? It's only fair. My eyes trace over the muscles of his neck. Over his strong jawline. I try to talk myself out of it, but deep down, I want to do it. I feel power at imagining him looking in the mirror tomorrow and remembering this moment. His hands find my sides. At first, he barely touches me. They hover over the small of my waist as if he's testing out if it's okay for him to hold me there. I don't stop him, and when he realizes I'm not giving any protest, the weight of his hands on my hips gets heavier. His fingers push into my skin, reminding me just how thin this nightgown is. I can feel the warmth of his fingertips through the fabric, making it feel like there's no fabric at all between us. "Offer's about to end," he says, his voice husky. I rub my lips together before sticking my tongue out to wet my lips. Who knew the thought of giving a hickey could turn me on? I push my hair behind my shoulders, wanting to get it out of the way. I lean in and bring my face closer to his. He exhales, his hooded eyelids focused on nothing but me. I hate how good it feels to have his attention like this. To know that I have an effect on him. I look at his neck, trying to decide where exactly I want to mark him. How high do I want to leave it? High enough that it'd show about his collar tomorrow? Or low enough that no one will know it's there but me? "Cami..." My breath hitches at the use of that name. I don't know why, but I love it when he calls me that. No one's called me that since Mom, but I want him to. "What?" I ask. The question is barely audible, my throat too thick with the desperate need for more. "Your offer expires in three...two⁠-" I grab either side of his face and pull him to me. It probably isn't what he's expecting, but I don't care. I'll do what I want, and right now, I want to kiss him again while I have the chance. His hands roughly grab my hips as he pulls my body into his. I swipe my tongue against his, trying not to moan when he lets out a groan of his own. My fingers grab at the strands of his hair, the length just long enough for me to get a grip on them. "Fuck," he growls, his mouth ripping from mine just long enough for him to get the word out. He leans in and traps my mouth with his once again. This time, I can't help but moan. It might be from the kiss, or it might be from the possessive way in which he lifts me by my hips and pulls me into his lap. I straddle him, not caring that the fabric of my nightgown now bunches around my waist because of our position. The space between my legs throbs so much that I have to move my hips to find friction. I gasp, the movement pressing his very obvious erection right against my core. He rips his mouth from mine again at the contact, air hissing from between his lips. "Camille." He groans as he presses his hips even harder against me. God, that's the sexiest sound I've ever heard. I know I shouldn't think that. I know I'll regret thinking it. But right now, I mean it and want to do everything in my power to hear it again. I rock up and down, teasing him but also teasing myself in the process. He's so hard and the fabric between us does nothing to hide either of our arousal. I pull my lips from his, meeting his gaze. For a moment, I just look at him, taking in the messy tendrils of his hair that stick out in different directions from my hands gripping them. My thumbs dance over his chiseled cheekbones as I stare at his lips. I give him a smile, wiggling my hips slightly just to see how crazy it drives him. "I still don't like you," I tell him, still smiling. His fingers dig into my sides almost painfully as his mouth breaks out into a wolfish grin. "If this is how you prove to me you don't like me, then I'll fucking take it."