In Love With My Enemy
I felt his hands gripping my waist, pulling me tighter against him, his fingers digging into my skin possessively.
The kiss was raw, intense, almost violent in its fervor. His lips moved against mine with such hunger, such dominance, that I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t a kiss meant for affection or tenderness—it was a statement, a warning to everyone in the room that I was his. His tongue flicked against mine, and a gasp escaped me, swallowed by the heat of his mouth. My knees buckled slightly under the force of it, my body betraying me as a surge of desire coiled low in my stomach.