Chapter 91 Chapter 91

Chapter 91 Chapter 91
Kimberley 

We stumble backward in the dark, hands tugging at each other’s clothes. I pull his shirt off before he tugs mine over my head, and when he reaches back to flick open my bra and let it fall from my arms, my nipples brush against his bare chest.

His skin is warm and smooth, and just that little bit of contact sends sparks dancing through me. Then he pulls me to him again and kisses the breath out of me, bending me backward as his lips devour mine.

Our chests are pressed flush together, and when we hit the edge of my bed, we tumble onto it, limbs entwined and lips still tasting, exploring, colliding.

“I’m gonna make everything better, Kim. I’m gonna fix this. All of it. I promise.”

He breaks away from our kiss to brush his mouth over the line of my jaw, and I bite my lip as new sensations crash through me.

He whispers his promises against my skin, and I don’t ask him how on earth he thinks he’s going to undo my expulsion from Evergreen Bay, or how he’s going to get my scholarship back. They’re empty words, and I try to remind myself of that even as I arch into his touch, begging him silently for more.

His tongue traces a path down the sensitive skin of my neck, and when his teeth scrape over my collarbone, I jerk in his arms.

“I missed this. I missed you,” he mutters, one hand sliding between us to flip open the button of my jeans. “I want you so fucking bad, Kim. All of you. Every part.”

As if to demonstrate what he means, he drops his mouth even lower and wraps his lips around one of my nipples, swirling his tongue around the hard peak. My toes curl in my little ballet flats, and my back arches off the bed as I grab onto his head, clutching at it for dear life.

“Do you still want me, Kim?” His voice is half pleading, half demanding, and I writhe in his arms as his words hit me right in the chest.

God fucking help me. Yes.

He switches to my other breast, licking a path over my skin that has me panting with need.

“Do you?” His tongue flicks my nipple back and forth before he draws the pink bud into his mouth in a long pull. “Do I still have a chance to make this right? Will you let me?"

I can’t answer that. How the fuck does he expect me to answer that?

Right now, everything feels perfect. The connection between us feels undeniable and pure. But I’m not dumb enough to believe it’s real. I’ve fallen for that before and gotten burned so badly I’ll never recover.

So I don’t give him an answer. I just slip a hand between us and palm his cock, stroking him and making him groan against my bare skin.

He pulls back and looks down at me, and I see something like resignation and determination in his eyes.

“That’s okay. You don’t have any reason to believe me yet. I’ll prove it though. I swear, I will.”

I need him to stop talking. I need him to stop saying the right fucking thing. I need him to stop making the foolish parts of my heart want to believe. So I stroke him harder, drawing another low noise out of him.

He thrusts into my palm, and then he draws back suddenly, leaving my body cold and my hand empty. I’m about to whine in protest when he tugs down my zipper and hooks the waistband of my pants, drawing them down my legs.
Oh, thank fuck.

I’m well aware my behavior is that of an addict, but can’t seem to get myself to stop. I tell myself it’s just one more time, that this time will be the last one, but it feels less and less true every day.

The three Icons have changed my life irrevocably. Maybe it’s unavoidable that we’ll spend the rest of our lives in each other’s orbit, crashing into each other over and over like stars colliding.

Maybe the true insanity was in thinking I could ever escape this endless cycle of desire and fury, of sweetness and brutality.

Darren pulls off my pants and ballet flats in one quick movement, and when his hands slide back up my legs to grasp my thin cotton panties, I shiver in anticipation.

Cool air hits my pussy as he draws them down my legs, and this time, there’s nothing quick about it. He takes his sweet time removing my last article of clothing, teasing me and making me squirm as the fabric brushes against my legs.

Then he kneels between my splayed legs to unbutton his own pants, and I watch as he pushes his jeans and boxers down over his hips, allowing his cock to spring free. He kicks them off along with his shoes, and everything falls to the floor with a dull thunk as he fists his cock at the base.
I can’t stop staring at him.

The first time we had sex, it was in his car, and we both kept almost all of our clothes on. There was something so fucking hot about it, about feeling him inside me while the rough texture of his jeans rubbed against my inner thighs.

But this is better.

He’s lean and cut and gorgeous. The broad planes of his pecs draw my attention first, and then my gaze slides down the cut six-pack of his abs. He’s not quite as bulky as Ben, or even Caden, but every one of his muscles is defined and chiseled. He has a cut V at his waist, and it takes all my self-control not to sit up and lick it.

His cock is hard and thick, a darker color than the rest of his skin, and as he strokes it slowly, I swear I can see the long vein that runs along the top pulsing.

Unconsciously, my tongue darts out to wet my lips, and as it does, Darren makes a choked noise. When my gaze flies back up to his face, he’s watching me watch him, and his expression is almost tortured.

“Fuck, Kimberley. You’re so perfect. How did I ever let anything come between us?”

My heart clenches again, harder and more painfully this time, and I clench my jaw as I reach up to pull him down on top of me, shutting him up with a kiss that’s anything but sweet.

No more fucking talking. I can’t bear it.