Then hegrabsme again.
His mouth crashes into mine like it’s the only way to shut me up—and maybe it is. The kiss is bruising, all teeth and tongue, no hesitation this time. His hands fist in my shirt like he’s trying to tear it off or pull me under.
I groan against his mouth, one hand sliding up the back of his neck, the other gripping his waist as he grinds against me. Fuck. He’s hard. So am I. And when our hips drag together again, I see stars.
Heat coils in my gut, sharp and dizzying. It’s messy, frantic, filthy—and I can’t stop.
I don’t want to.
I kiss him harder, suck his bottom lip between my teeth, and he gasps into my mouth, bucking forward like he can’t get close enough.
“God—Logan,” he pants, voice wrecked. “I hate you. I hate how you make me feel.”
“You’re not supposed to like me,” I mutter, dragging my mouth along his jaw. “You’re supposed to want me.”
“Ido,” he growls. “I want—fuck—I want everything.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it?”
My fingers slide up the hem of his shirt, digging into his bare skin. I flip him fast—pressing him into the wall now, using my full weight to hold him there.
His breath stutters. His hips jerk. His hands scrabble at my back, pulling me in tighter.
“Why’d you stop messaging me?” he chokes out, voice raw. “Why’d you freeze me out after Monday?”
“I thought you didn’t want this.”
“I didn’t.” His hands tighten in my shirt. “I do.”
I press my forehead to his again, panting, lost in him.
“Say it again.”
“I want you.”
Fuck.
“I thought you gave up,” I whisper, voice thick.
“I thought you did,” he snaps back.
My lips crush into his again, both of us too wound up to care who started what or who’s supposed to finish it.
But we can’t do this here.
Not like this.
Not when I want him laid out andmine.
I pull back just enough to drag my gaze across his face—lips red and kiss-swollen, jaw flexing like he’s fighting to stay in control.
“Let’s get out of here,” I breathe.
He hesitates, just a second. Then nods. And that’s all I need.
I grab his wrist and pull him toward the back exit, heart slamming like a war drum in my chest. The cool air washes over my skin as I push out the door. We exit on the side of the building, the parking lot in front of us. I let him go just long enough to fish my keys out of my pocket, fingers fumbling with the metal, and then I’m pulling him toward my Jeep like I’m afraid he’ll change his mind if I don’t move fast enough.
The parking lot’s full of empty cars scattered under the harsh yellow glow of streetlights. No voices. Everyone is probably in the club.
