The threat probably doesn’t carry much weight, considering I’m pinned beneath him and completely at his mercy. But something in my voice must convince him I mean it, because instead of looking concerned, he laughs.
It’s a rich, warm sound that does terrible things to my resolve. “Go ahead,” he says, his mouth curving into that infuriating smirk I know so well. “Hit me as many times as you want. I deserve it.”
Before I can respond, his head dips down, and he captures my lips in a kiss that steals the breath from my lungs. It’s desperate and demanding and full of everything he can’t say. I can taste relief in it, gratitude, possession—like he’s trying to pour his entire soul into me through this connection.
When he pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily.
“I’m never letting you go,” he
