POV: Kim
He didn't ask for permission.
Frank never asked. The grip of his hand on the back of my neck simply tightened — not to cause pain, but with the absolute, non-negotiable certainty of gravity pulling stones toward the earth.
He tilted my head back.
Okay, the Femme Fatale said. And vanished.
His mouth crashed down on mine.
It wasn't a kiss. It was an invasion. Heavy, demanding, tasting of blood, ozone, and something wild that had no business existing in a second-floor bedroom. His tongue pushed deeper, stealing the air right out of me, and I felt my knees give way in a treacherous, pathetic buckle.
He didn't let me fall. His hand — the one that had been anchoring my hair — slid down to my waist, digging into the soft flesh with enough force to guarantee bruises by morning. He
