“Then act like it! Stop standing there and telling me things when you should’ve?—”
He cuts me off the only way he knows how.
His mouth crashes into mine. It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s furious, unfiltered, and scorching. I kiss him back just as hard. Teeth. Tongues. Hands pulling, gripping, trying to get closer like we’re still trying to win the argument even as we tear each other apart.
He backs me toward the couch, breathing heavy between kisses, and I grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him down with me as I fall into the cushions.
He lands half on top of me, his hands already sliding under my shirt, rough and desperate.
“I hate how good you taste when I’m mad at you,” I hiss against his mouth.
He bites my bottom lip in response, then kisses it like an apology. “Good. Hate me all you want. But don’t you dare pretend you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want this,” I lie, dragging my nails down his back. “I want to scream at you.”
“Then scream,” he says, breath hot against my neck, “but keep kissing me while you do it.”
I tug his shirt up and off, and he yanks mine over my head like we’re daring each other to keep going. Like undressing is just another battle we’re dead-set on winning.
I straddle him, thighs on either side of his lap, and he grips my hips tight, grinding me against him. The friction sparks amoan from deep in my throat, and his mouth captures it before it can escape.
Everything is fire. Everything is tension. Everything is raw, messy, and undeniable.
His hand slips between us, cupping me over my underwear, and I gasp into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders.
“I should throw you out,” I pant.
“You should,” he growls, kissing down my neck. “But you won’t.”
And he’s right. God help me, he’s right.
I’m breathless, straddling Will on the couch, his hands gripping my hips like he’s never letting go. Our shirts are somewhere on the floor, and his mouth is on my neck, open and hot, like he’s trying to claim every inch of skin he missed the first time around.
Then—Buzz buzz. Buzz buzz.
My phone vibrates on the coffee table.
His lips still against my skin, his chest rising hard and fast beneath me.
I glance over, heart hammering.
Nash Kimzey.
Will sees it too. His jaw tightens. His hands flex on my waist.
Buzz buzz.
He looks up at me, eyes dark.
“Go on,” he says, voice low and edged. “Answer it.”
My stomach twists. “Will?—”
He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “Let’s see how good you can be for Daddy.”
I swallow hard, reaching for the phone with fingers that won’t stop shaking.
Answer or decline.
