What the hell was I doing?
My hands flew to his chest, and I shoved him hard, but it was like trying to move a wall. He didn’t budge—just smirked and pressed in closer, pinning me with his body, placing his hands on the wall on either side of my head.
“You can’t do this,” I panted. “You can’t just—touch me like that. I don’t even know your name.”
He dipped his head and nipped at my jaw. “You’ll have to earn that one.”
My heart hammered inside my chest. I twisted against him, wild now, panic threading through the haze of want. “Let me go.”
“Why?” he murmured darkly, his lips grazing my ear. “Afraid of your own cravings?”
I snapped.
Every confused thought, every spark of shame, every second I’d spent burning for this man ignited into fury.
I slammed my knee up toward his groin, but he blocked it with an easy shift of his thigh and laughed—a low, guttural sound that sent heat and rage spiraling through me.
“I’m guessing you fight like you fuck,” he growled, seizing both my wrists in one hand and slamming them above my head against the brick wall. “Messy. Desperate. And so fucking beautiful.”
“Get off me!” I spat, squirming and writhing as I tried to wiggle free. “You’re insane!”
His grin twisted. “Maybe. But you loved every touch.”
I hated him for being right.
My skin burned. My breath came in ragged bursts. Between my thighs, I still throbbed—and it disgusted me.
But it thrilled me too.
That was the worst part.
Without warning, he released my wrists and stepped back. I stumbled forward, off-balance, off-kilter, adrenaline and embarrassment crashing into each other.
I didn’t hesitate.
I ran.
As fast as I could, I flew across the pavement toward the streetlight at the end of the alley, breathing hard and practically choking on my humiliation. My wrap tangled around my elbows, and my dress rode up my body as I fled. I could barely remember the way home.
Behind me, there was no sound. No footsteps.
But I felt him.
Of course he was following me.
Not chasing.
Just…silently pursuing.
Like the predator he was.
He wanted me to know he wasn’t finished.
I made it to my apartment in record time. My palms were sweaty and I was gasping for air as I fumbled with the lockbox and shoved the door open. I slammed it behind me, locked it, and pressed my back against the wood, chest heaving.
“Fucking hell,” I whispered.
My lips were still swollen. My panties were drenched.
