Beneath the Surface (Sugarlake, #4)

by Emily McIntire

Nothing is permanent. Things are always under my control, and I can choose to do things however I want. That’s all anything is, really. A choice.

“I don’t enjoy kissing. It’s never been my thing.” My stomach jumps into my throat, my knuckles tight from where I’m gripping the counter. “But I swear to God, I’d let the world burn if it meant I could taste your lips.”

lap. My palm wraps around the nape of her neck and drags her face toward mine, our noses brushing from the movement. “If I was in a relationship, I wouldn’t do this,” I whisper. My lips meet hers hard, my tongue licking the breath from her mouth until I’m drowning in her taste.

“My point is, little bird, I understand hiding your past beneath the surface—under pretty colors and inked up skin.”

“Oh, God,” I pant. “There’s no God here, little bird. It’s just you and me.”

“Now that I’ve had you. Now that I’ve tasted you, no one else gets to touch you.” He slips his tongue in my mouth, branding me with ownership. I shouldn’t like the way it feels. But I do. “You’re mine.”

“You’ve gotta stop tryin’ to find the bad in every situation. You look hard enough, you’ll always find it.”

“I actually came here to talk,” she says. I groan, adjusting my hard-on, a smirk creeping on my face. “That sounds ominous. I thought you came to ride my dick.” She scoffs. “Jesus, with an attitude like that, who can say no?” My grin widens. “As if you’d have the option.”