This wasn’t an accident.
It was a goddamn masterpiece of self-sabotage.
This angle leaves her mouthwatering throat exposed and stretched tight.
Fire and barely-banked lust simmer in her eyes.
Only overshadowed by raw hunger when her gaze sweeps over my cock, straining against the cargos she’s in a love-hate relationship with.
“Room. Now.”
She glares up at me, her jaw set in fierce defiance. "You're not the boss of me."
"You better run, Squirt." Raising the hammer, I swing and hook the claw around the nailhead with every bit of violence simmering inside from endless days subjected to various forms of torture.
Every form beginning and ending with the same ingredient: Holly fucking McAdams.
Wood splinters.
The hammer catches on the string lights, ripping a series of hooks off the window frame, leaving them drooping in Holly and Eve’s laps.
Our gazes lock.
She’s all fluttering breaths, pretty little mouth hanging open with shock to my chest heaving, jaw tight, teeth gnashing in frustration that’s finally reached its boiling point.
She blinks and whatever showdown we’re locked in ends.
Wonder who won?
She’s shooting off the bench the very next second, but I’m not fooling myself that she’s all of a sudden willing to follow orders.
Not at all.
Somehow, her retreat serves a purpose, and I’m about to find out what that purpose is.
Every bit of reason I pride myself on surrenders to reckless energy that’s out of bounds, beyond reason, and completely unstoppable.
With a yank fueled by a week’s worth of being edged by the evil little bastard swinging overhead, I rip the nail clean out of the wood dragging the mistletoe down with it.
No more pictures to document where this little fucker is.
No more wondering when the next temptation will be shoved in my face.
No more questions from Nick when I kiss her in front of him again.
No. Fucking. More.
Heading for her room, I take the stairs two at a time, hammer clenched in one hand and the mistletoe swinging from my fist in the other.
I throw open her door with a force fueled by blue balls, the ache in my cock unbearable. The sharp crack of wood crashing into the wall is a brutal punctuation as if the room itself is bracing for what’s coming.
We're about to test the limits of damage deposits.
Buckle the fuck up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chance
