Vesper POV
I don’t know who kissed who first. Maybe I started it. Maybe he did. It doesn’t matter.
What matters is that his mouth is on mine and I hate how much I want it. I hate the way his hands fit against my hips like he was made to grab me just so he could slam me into something hard. I hate how I’m kissing him like my body has wanted to for years, and I’m digging my nails into his skin at the same time just to feel him bleed.
His mouth breaks from mine, panting against my jaw. “I f*****g hate you.”
“Good,” I spit, shoving him back a step, just enough to rip open the front of his shirt. “The feeling’s mutual.”
He growls, hands grabbing my jacket and yanking it down off my shoulders, letting it fall somewhere on the blood-slick concrete. His palms are on my ribs next, rough and hu
