Page 25 of Touch of Hate

She needs this. So do I. I can’t be selfish with her. I never could be.

All at once, she goes stiff. Her thighs clamp around my head, squeezing until I can’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in my ears.

Then the tension breaks.

A high-pitched yelp escapes her parted lips before a fresh burst of wetness pours out of her. I continue sweeping my tongue over her twitching clit, drawing it out, refusing to stop even when she bats ineffectively at my shoulders.

Oh no, I’m not stopping.

Not until she’s ready to pass out. My pride won’t allow it.

Her hips jerk spasmodically, and I ride it out, holding on tight, lips clamped around her clit, sucking until she arches her back again, shaking violently from head to toe. My heart almost forgets to beat as I wait at that moment between torment and release.

She drops to the mattress when she reaches the finish line, her body limp and immobile. Pride rushes through me. Pride in myself, yes, but pride in her as well. For trusting me, for trusting this. For knowing I would never put her through anything I knew she couldn’t withstand. She’s always been stronger than she knows.

I need her to remember that.

Knowing she’s too sensitive now, I choose instead to caress the insides of her thighs with my lips and tongue, committing her to memory before lifting my head and raising myself onto my knees. She hasn’t moved except to breathe—great, rasping breaths. Her blond halo of hair is a mess, and a deep flush creeps up her face. The bed is in disarray due to her frantic writhing.

Nothing has ever been more beautiful or perfect.

I climb off the bed, careful not to disturb her as she comes down from her high. Once more, I take in the sight of her, indulging myself in her beauty before pulling the blanket over her once again.

“Ren…” she whispers, the sound soft, but she doesn’t open her eyes.

She does, however, offer a lazy smile.

Reaching down, I run a hand over her hair, smoothing it away from her forehead before placing a kiss there. I close my eyes, inhaling her one more time. After this, I’ll have no choice but to keep my distance.

Just one more second.

One more kiss.

One more.

Even though I know nothing will ever be enough.

With a strangled sigh, I force myself to straighten up.

“Happy birthday,” I whisper before backing away.

She doesn’t reply, and even if everything tells me to stay here, the reminder of what must be done presses heavy on my shoulders.

Soon we will be together. I promise.

7

SCARLET

TWO YEARS LATER

Life is not like a box of chocolates, or however that quote goes.

It’s like a dumpster that’s on fire, chasing you down the street, but the street is downhill, and you have no shoes on.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but the past two years have been an endless roller coaster that I can’t seem to get off.

Two years later, and everyone still believes Ren is the bad guy, that he’s out for blood, hiding, waiting for the perfect moment to attack, but I still find it in my heart to believe he’s a good guy.