Your Rhythm (Sherbrooke Station Book 1) by Katia Rose

Author:Katia Rose [Rose, Katia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

12 You Might Be || Autograf

KAY

He’s everywhere, his hands fisting my hair, knee pressing between my thighs. He practically shoves me up against the fridge and tugs my head back, attacking my mouth as his chest pins me in place. Any worries about us being recognized in the bar faded as soon as his lips met mine. I can hardly think anymore, but my body takes over for me. My finger hooks around his belt loop and draws him closer, until there’s nothing between us but fabric and heat.

He’s a demanding kisser, working my mouth at a pace that forces me to keep up. I let myself get caught up in his rhythm, feeling a pulsing between my legs every time his tongue sweeps across my lips. When he sucks the bottom one between his teeth, I can’t help but cry out, pulling away to give myself a moment to breathe.

“Damn it, Pearson.” My voice is shaky, exhilarated, like I’ve just run a mile. “You’re good at this.”

His grip on my hair tightens. “Just ‘good?’”

The prickles of pain starting on my scalp should be telling me to take things down a notch, but instead they just make me want to see what will happen if I keep urging him on.

“You set the bar pretty high on that roof,” I tease, thrilled by the look of warning he gives me for my tone. “I didn’t know if you’d make the same impression without a dramatic backdrop and a soundtrack.”

He lets one hand drop from my hair to the base of my throat, and without any warning he leans hard into the leg that’s pressed between both of mine, his thigh grinding against the part of me that’s been aching for him all night. Even through our layers of clothing, the pressure is enough to draw a gasp from me.

“I think you’re going to provide the soundtrack tonight.” He leans close enough to hover his lips just above mine. I clamp my thighs around him as he keeps grinding into me, fingers stretching to softly circle my neck. “Go on, Kay. Moan for me.”

My eyelids feel heavy, muddled thoughts refusing to turn themselves into words for my tongue to wrap itself around. Every instinct I have is telling me to give into him now, to drop any illusion of control, but I’m not quite ready to let him take over yet.

I somehow manage to raise an eyebrow and ask, “Who put you in charge?”

He laughs, a different one than any I’ve heard from him before. This one is dark, threatening, crackling with the static of danger. As I stare up into his narrowed eyes, a shiver runs through me. I hold my breath as he drags the pad of one thumb down my cheek, and then suddenly I’m being flipped over against the fridge as he pins both my arms above my head with one hand.

“I put me in charge,” he growls, just inches from my ear. “I have a habit of setting the pace.

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