"I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest we ditch a door from 1880 simply because it reacts to the weather," he replied as he jogged down the steps. "You're hurting my preservationist heart."
Sara pushed her way inside and made a notable effort at slamming the outer door on my face but I was right behind her and caught it as she threw open the next door into the foyer. I didn't understand why this place had so many doors that all led from one little room into another—vestibule, foyer, entry hall—but it meant I got to repeatedly thwart Sara's attempts at making a fuck-ton of noise.
"You're the one who can't stand to be wrong," I said to her back.
"That's rich coming from you."
She went to her door, shaking her head and murmuring to herself as she fumbled with her keys. Her door stood to the left of the steep, winding staircase, and since I didn't have to look at her eyes anymore, I should've been on my way and out of this mess. I wanted to leave. I gripped the banister, stepped onto the first stair.
But— "Could you press pause on all your slamming and screeching, and explain to me what you're so pissed off about? Because I'd really like to know."
She gave a dark, brittle laugh. "I doubt that."
"Okay. You're right. I don't really care why you're so pissed off. I just want it to stop."
She turned slowly. "What you want is to avoid all consequences of your actions."
I abandoned the stairs because this shit could not go unaddressed. "My actions? And who is holdingyouaccountable foryouractions?"
She brought her hands to her temples, shaking her head. "You have all the power here and it's a fucking game to you."
"It's not," I said. I didn't know when I'd crossed the foyer but I was close enough to find the green in her eyes again. "It's not a fucking game, Shap. It never was."
She flung her arms out wide and I caught her wrist before it smashed into the banister's thick, round newel post. "You need to be more careful."
Her pulse thrummed under my thumb as she blinked up at me. I watched her, waiting for the next biting comment from that wicked tongue of hers, another blistering glare, anything. Whatever she had to give, I was ready for it. Iwantedit.
But then she parted her lips and looked at me with those big golden-green eyes and I lost my fucking mind.
I advanced into her space and shoved a hand into all that wavy blonde hair and I stole her lips, taking everything I wanted, just fucking taking it all. There was a split second when the only response was a squeak in her throat but then—then—she softened and sighed and everything that once was ceased to exist because there was no going back. Not for either of us.
I roped an arm around her waist and backed her up against the door as she fisted her hand in my shirt and sank her teeth into my bottom lip. It hurt like hell and I responded by pinning her hips to the door. She purred, though it was a purr in the way a cheetah purred before ripping your throat out.
I entertained no thought as to whether this was right, wrong, or fucking suicidal. She was as perfectly vicious as she looked and I couldn't get enough, and none of those thoughts would've trumped that truth. I could not stop kissing her, touching her, just fucking inhaling her as she fought me for control because of course we fought.Of coursewe did.
She tore her lips away only to drag them down my neck and light my skin on fire. "What do you think you're doing?"
"This is another one of those moments when you should shut up." I ran my hand over her ass, exploring all that lush, glorious skin through her trousers. The more appropriate description would've been fondling or manhandling as there was nothing polite happening here. Nothing gentle or tentative. This wasn't even decent. No,fuckno. It was as irreverent as everything was with us.
I dragged my hand to her thigh, down to the back of her leg. I brought her knee to my waist and notched myself between her legs, and if I'd thought I'd crossed a line a few minutes ago, I dropped a bomb on those lines by grinding my cock where she wanted it. She purred again and there was plenty of murder in that sound but now pure need was woven into it too.
"You like that, don't you?" I asked. "Is there something you want to ask me?"
She yanked my shirt from my trousers and ran her hand over my torso, rude and possessive and perfect with her fingers clawing, digging, clinging. "You're such an asshole."
I slipped my fingers free of her hair to curl them around the back of her neck. "You're nothing if not consistent."
She reached for my belt and it seemed entirely possible she'd whip me with it if I didn't tie it around her wrists first. "There's nothing in this world I'd ask you for."
I pried her hand off my belt before things got fully out of control and I spun her around to face the door. Her hands landed flat on the panel, her cheek too. I leaned into her, my lips coasting over her neck, her earlobe. Her skin was magic. Demonic magic but wasn't that the best kind of magic? It was the best for me.
Give me all your hellfire, honey. Give me your worst.
And she smelled amazing. There was no singular scent I could identify but every breath of her was maddeningly lovely and precious. Maddening. Having her like this left me furious yet somehow desperate for more. Like I didn't have enough problems.
"Then don't ask," I said. She shuddered as I passed a hand between her breasts and down her belly. I slipped my palm between her thighs, cupping the heat of her for a moment before giving her a hard, profane squeeze. It was wrong. So wrong. "Don't ask. Tell me what you want and I'll give it to you."
I kept my face buried against her neck and my palm on the most dangerous cat in the known world. It was all I could do.
