Page 107 of Knife For Hire

My attention lands on her cunt, pink and begging for me.

A thousand scenarios, dreams, wants, needs circulate through my mind of what I could do to her.

What I will do to her.

With her.

My gaze snaps up, her eyes meet mine, her pupils are blown. Her legs spread wider, her heels dig into the hood of the car as she watches me.

“I can’t get you out of my mind,” I tell her honestly.

“I couldn’t either, Kale.”

My name on her mouth is an aphrodisiac.

For years, whenever it was spoken, it was in disdain. Accusatory.

But from her full lips, it is only warmth that spills around it.

She is changing a deeply broken part of my existence.

And it is terrifying.

I duck to her, my hand grips her neck, my lips meet hers.

The second they do, everything else around us turns to static, unimportant. She becomes my entire focus, the world for me to orbit around. My pulse pounds in my ears, my cock jerks painfully. Her faint scent mixes with the breeze, filling my lungs in warmth.

Cinnamon is a home I never dreamed to have. A place to return to when the world is too much.

I feast on her. On the pain that dances between us.

Her forgiveness is something I never expected to have. That I didn’t deserve. But it is the key that unlocks all of the emotions I held within.

Years of self-deprecation. Of guilt. Of loneliness.

I walked through life away from others, never attempting to create relationships.

Knowing that everything would begin and end with a lie if I did.