He crowds me, forcing my back against the wall. Heat radiates from him, warming my skin, and he smells like winter… spearmint and fresh ice.
Licking my lips, I tilt my face up. Even straining my eyes doesn’t show me a glimpse of his features. “What are you doing?”
“The agreement was you stay away from me unless you want trouble. You just broke the terms.”
“What terms? When did we agree to anything?”
“Heyworth House. October 24th. Freshman year.”
My brows rise in shock. October twenty…what?
“I don’t remember discussing—wait, was that Declan’s Halloween party? I was super drunk that night.”
“I know. Risky move while wearing a black leather jumpsuit unzipped to your belt buckle. Things could’ve taken a turn.”
“It was a costume,” I hiss, furious at the implication that a sexy outfit makes a girl fair prey. “I was also wearing a red wig and fake guns strapped to my thighs. I was Black Widow. Marvel Universe. Pretend you live in America.”
“You offered me a blow job. Again.”
I did what?
No way.I wouldn’t have.He’s lying.
“And you said no, of course.” My retort is quick, trying to distract from other things. “Do you hate pizza and tacos, too?”
“A blow job wasn’t the original agreement.”
“So you’ve said! But if you really said oral was out, I never heard you. Did you whisper it like a shy little girl on her first trip to an ice cream stand?”
“What’s an ice cream stand?”
His dry tone nearly makes my head explode. Slapping my hands against his chest hard enough to make a thwacking sound, I try to shove him back.
“Don’t crowd me, Viking.”
His arms jerk me toward him and then whirl me a hundred-and-eighty degrees. Setting me forward, he presses my body to the wall, so my chest and cheek are against cold steel.
“I don’t fight with little girls,” he says. “But I do punish them if they try to get violent.”
“Let go of me.”
“You done trying to throw your weight around? All hundred pounds of you?”
“A hundred pounds!As if. And I’m strong. I could put the point of my heel through your foot if I decided to,” I say, biting out the words.
“My quads weigh more than you.”
“Bullshit. I’m one-thirty. Get off.” I bang my body backward into his and step down on his foot with my sharp heel. I connect with a clinking sound. What is he wearing? Steel-toed boots? Like a construction worker?
My booted foot skids off, and it throws me off balance. His hands are all that keep me from falling.
Then he smacks my ass.
And smacks it again.
The air stalls in my lungs, and my muscles stiffen, but deep in my core there’s a pulse of something that’s not angry.
The cracking sound of a third slap echoes off the elevator walls. And heat spreads through my right ass cheek.
