Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

“Thank Christ for that.” His lips fastened on mine—hot and heavy and wet.

His fingers lashed tighter around my wrists, holding me firm as he forced my head to crash against Einstein’s nose and accept a nasty, feral, hot-as-hell kiss.

This wasn’t a first kiss.

This was something explosive. This was dangerous, dirty, and brought things out of me I didn’t know existed.

Instead of yielding to him and playing the meek, sensible girl I’d been all my life, I gave him back that dirty heat. My mouth opened wide as his tongue teased my lips, giving him full entry with no refusal.

His groan ricocheted into my chest as he pressed his entire body against mine. His thigh rocked, giving my clit delicious friction as his erection dug harder and hotter into my hipbone.

Having him lose himself in this dark, maniacal world allowed me to do the same. I shed my skin of Vesper Fairfax—co-owner and perfect student—and became a sexual minx instead.

I tugged where he held my wrists, forcing him to give me slack.

His fingers unlocked as his grip skated down my body to join with his other hand which cupped my face. He held my cheeks prisoner as my own hands snarled over his body, digging into the ridges of his spine, crushing him closer, then dropping to knead his ass.

I didn’t let embarrassment or questions fill my head.

I just let myself live.

I let myself feel.

And if that meant we were nothing more than dry-humping, sexually frustrated strangers kissing like horny teenagers, then I was fine with that.

I cried out as his hands dropped from my cheeks to fasten on my breasts. The black lace bra I wore beneath my top felt like barbwire around my sensitive flesh as my body begged for him to strip me, bite me, take me.

My brain turned off.

My hands shot between us. I cupped his balls with one hand and caressed his hard length with the other.

“Holy fuck.” He thrust into my hands. “What the hell are you doing to me?”

He kissed me harder, yanking my straight hair as if I deserved a lesson for shocking him and touching what he said I was allowed to touch.

His tongue speared into my mouth.

His teeth caught my lower lip.

His growl, his grunt, his hips thrusting into my hand.

He utterly consumed me.

I wanted to get naked.

I needed him inside me.

His hand burrowed between my thighs.

I parted my legs for him. I moaned as he cupped me. His finger pressed right where I needed him.

And then, he was gone.

His heat ripped away, his mouth, his passion.

I stood there gasping like a stupid out-of-water fish as he paced in the small space, yanking his hands over his face and into his hair. His cock strained against his jeans, visible as the strobe lights continued to disorientate us.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his face white but eyes so black with lust they clenched my stomach and made me ten times wetter. “How the hell did you do this to me? Who the hell are you?”