The Gender Game 5 by Bella Forrest (top 5 books to read .TXT) 📗

Viggo’s mouth drew tight, and he shrugged. “Okay? No, definitely not. But I’m, uh, processing. This mission will help, I think. It’ll keep my mind off everything for a while.”

I looked at his face, noting its tired lines, and reached up to touch his cheek, stroking the rough edges of his beard. “I love you,” I told him. “I don’t care if it takes me a thousand years to convince you it wasn’t your fault—I will never stop trying. And eventually, I will succeed.”

Viggo paused, regarding me gravely. “Sometimes I wonder why you love me so much,” he said after a moment. “But honestly, I don’t care. You’re my whole world, Violet. The last couple of weeks have been hell for us, but I promise you, there is an end in sight. Trust me to get the job done.”

I stroked my thumb over his cheek, nodding. “I do trust you,” I whispered. “I’m going to worry, a lot, but I trust you. Just promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

He nodded, his face solemn. “I promise. As long as you promise to do the same.”

Laughing, I leaned back, raising my hand up to wave it around the room. “I think the most unnecessary risk I could take back here would be to try to argue medicine with Dr. Tierney.”

Viggo smirked and nodded. “Yeah. Maybe don’t do that one.”

I smiled, and then, on impulse, wrapped my arms around him, pulling him close. It helped, but not enough to ease the sense of foreboding that seemed to be clinging to everything, making my stomach flutter with uncertainty. I clung to Viggo, breathing in his familiar, masculine scent. As I did so, I realized my ribs barely twinged when his arms came around me, holding me tightly at the waist.

Something inside me cautiously uncurled. Slowly, his presence was easing the anxiety out of my stomach. I knew it would be back, but right now, I wanted another feeling to cling to. I didn’t want him to go, not yet, and he didn’t seem to want to move either.

His nose nudged mine, and we stared at each other for a while, eye to eye. Then, feeling daring and just a little bit needy, I pressed forward and caught his lips in a kiss.

Viggo’s kiss in response was unexpectedly intense. It left me breathless, dizzy, and I clung to him, reeling from the feel of his lips on mine. Sometimes when we kissed, he was demanding and rough, while other times, he was sweet and slow. This kiss was like the latter, but there was something more to it. A soft, gentle urgency that seemed to grow as our kiss continued.

My breath caught in my throat as he pressed the tip of his tongue to my upper lip, taking a slow, languid taste. My lips parted, but instead of sweeping into my mouth, his tongue continued to taste my lips, savoring them. He gently sucked my lower lip, and I moaned, overwhelmed with pleasure.

The kiss was teasing as well, a flitting series of tastes that were like fire across the sensitive nerve endings of my lips. I moaned in wordless demand, wanting more, but he denied me. Instead, his mouth moved over my cheek and chin, then down the soft skin of my throat. I shuddered as the rough whiskers of his face scraped against me, and decided I liked the roughness.

Trying to get closer, I rotated on the bed next to him, throwing my leg across his, so that I was facing him while straddling his lap, a desperate hunger awakening inside me. One of Viggo’s arms curled around my backside, securing me, but he pulled his torso back from me, his eyes concerned.

“Violet, maybe we better—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” I demanded huskily. I wasn’t sure where this compulsion was coming from, but I needed this to continue. I knew that even though I was feeling better, my strength and stamina would fade quickly, but I wanted to take advantage of them while I still had them.

Yet it was also more than that. I needed confirmation that I was alive, and his mouth was reminding me that not only was I alive, I was loved. After being so afraid, so confused, so lost in everything that had happened, been happening, for so long, I hadn’t realized how much I craved physical contact, if only to reassure me this wasn’t the end for us. He’d be back and safe and…

As if in response to my intensity, Viggo growled possessively as he kissed me again, this kiss growing deeper and harder. I moaned, shifting my hips, needing more somehow, and Viggo seemed to know exactly what was wrong. Carefully, he encircled my waist with both hands, then flopped back onto the bed, effortlessly pulling me with him, so that I ended up on top of him, our hips pressed together. There was a twinge of pain from my ribs, but I didn’t care.

As long as Viggo kept touching me, I would never care. I rested my left hand next to his head and kissed him back, using my tongue to tease his mouth as he had mine. He gave an approving grunt, his hand finding my hip and holding it firm.

Without letting my lips leave his, I began fumbling with the buttons of the white long-sleeved shirt he was wearing, but it was hard with my left hand. It took me over a minute to get the first one undone, and after that, my patience was gone. I grabbed the fabric in my hand and pulled, rewarded by the sound of buttons striking the floor. Viggo’s eyes darkened as he watched me rip his shirt open, and I felt a thrill of excitement at the hungry look in them.

I stroked my hand over his chest, tracing the lines of his fit body. My fingers felt him lightly, caressing each little line and divot that made up his well-muscled physique.

Viggo broke our next kiss with