My breath is ragged. His is steady. Too steady.
“I hate you,” I whisper, even as I step into him again.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs. “Keep trying, though. Hate is better than fear.”
I punch again. My fist lands against his side. He barely flinches, but he doesn’t look away, not from my eyes, not from my mouth, not from the flush I can feel burning down my neck.
I aim for his jaw next. He catches my wrist, draws me in, and suddenly I’m aware of how close we are, how our panting breath mingles between us, how his chest is against mine, solid, unyielding. It’s dizzying, the feeling of being touched by him.
Carrson must feel it too, that shift, because his fingers wrap tight. Not painful, but firm. Possessive.
His other hand goes to my waist, steadying me.
Our faces are inches apart. He says, “Come on. Fight.”
I twist in his grip. “I’m trying,” I whisper.
His eyes drop to my lips.
“Don’t try.Take.”
I slam my palm into his chest. Hard.
He stumbles back. Not much. But enough.
The look on his face, pride, something darker, more primal, causes a hot feeling to stir low in my stomach.
We move in sync now. Circling. Breathing hard. He lunges. I duck. My elbow connects with his ribs again, and he makes a sound in his throat that’s half grunt, half growl.
He presses in again, grabs me with his hand on the back of my neck, not gentle.
“Don’t just react,” he murmurs, his mouth close enough to brush mine.“Dominate.”
My eyes snap to his.
I hit him in the jaw. Hard.
He doesn’t fall, but he laughs. A low, rough rumble that curls around me.
“There she is. That’s my Tiger.”
Suddenly, his hand is on my shoulder, shoving. My back hits the wall.
His body is in front of me, boxing me in. His chest rises and falls, brushing mine with every breath.
I’m panting. Sweating. Trembling, but not from fear.
Carrson braces his hand against the wall beside my head. Our bodies aren’tquitetouching, but close. Too close. Every inch of space between us crackles.
My thoughts scatter. I can feel the heat of him through my clothes. His breath stirs the damp hair clinging to my cheek. My shoulder’s still tingling from where he grabbed it.
Ishouldpull away. Scream at him. Hit him again.
But my body doesn’twant to.
My pulse pounds low in my stomach, hot and deep. My skin feels tight, too tight, like it’s not enough to contain whatever this is.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
