“You’re a fucking child is what you are.” Her voice is sharp, cutting through the empty gym. “And to think I’ve actually been feeling guilty lately. Like maybe I was wrong about you all these years.” She shakes her head, something that almost looks like hurt flickering across her face before she locks it down. “But you’re still the same petty asshole who’d rather sabotage someone than deal with his own shit.”
I cross the space between us without thinking about it, and she rises from the bench to meet me, chin lifted, refusing to give an inch. We’re face to face now, close enough that I can see theflecks of gold in her dark eyes, close enough that her breath hits my jaw when she exhales.
“You think I’m petty?” My voice comes out rough.
“Yep,” she says, stepping closer instead of away, eyes blazing. “And I think you’d rather keep hating me than let me prove I’m not who you think I am.”
I laugh, short and bitter. “And who are you, Brooke? Because from where I’m standing, you’re exactly who I always thought you were.”
Something flickers across her face. Pain, maybe, or anger. It’s hard to tell with her.
“You don’t know anything about me,” she says quietly. “You never did.”
She glares up at me and I’m suddenly aware of how good she smells, and how fucking perfect her face is. Her face has the kind of bone structure that makes strangers ask if she’s ever considered modeling. Sharp cheekbones, full lips, dark eyes. She’s beautiful, and she has been since the first time I met her.
I shift my weight as my cock stirs in my sweatpants. Unhelpful and inconvenient. Also starting to feel impossible to hide.
“Dominic, you are without a doubt the most impossible—“ She stops. Her eyes drop to my mouth just for a second, but I catch it. “The mostinfuriatingman I have ever met.”
“Yeah?” I don’t step back. I should step back. “And you’re?—“
“I’m what?” she asks.
The question hangs between us. I don’t have an answer. All I have is the sound of her breathing and the smell of her skin and the fact that her lips are parted and she’s not moving away. She’s standing there like she’s waiting for something to happen, like she’s been waiting for it as long as I have.
“Yeah?” I take another half-step closer, crowding her space, daring her to back down. “And you’re the most?—“
I don’t finish the sentence. We both snap at the exact same moment, years of hatred and want finally detonating in the space between us.
Her teeth sink into my bottom lip hard enough to sting and I growl into her mouth, one hand fisting in her hair while the other grabs her hip and yanks her flush against me. My cock is pressed against her stomach now, hard and aching, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel exactly what she does to me. She makes a sound against my lips, something between a gasp and a moan, and I swallow it, licking into her mouth like I’m starving for her.
She kisses me back just as hard, just as angry, her nails digging into my shoulders through my t-shirt as she arches into me. Her tongue slides against mine and I want more of it. I want all of it. I tilt her head back with the hand in her hair, changing the angle, deepening the kiss until I can’t tell where I end and she begins.
I walk her backward without breaking contact, guiding her with my grip on her hip, and her ass hits the weight bench.
“I hate you,” she moans against my mouth, even as her hands slide under my shirt and rake up my back. Her nails drag across my skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
“I fucking hate you too,” I growl back, even as my hands are shaking with how badly I want her.
I grab the hem of her sweatshirt and yank it over her head in one rough motion. She has to let go of me to get her arms free and the second the fabric clears her head she’s reaching for me again, grabbing my shirt and pulling. She’s wearing a sports bra underneath, black and simple, and I can see her nipples peaked against the fabric, hard little points straining toward me, begging for my mouth.
I don’t bother trying to unclasp it or pull it over her head. I grab the fabric between her tits with both hands and rip it apart,the material tearing with a satisfying sound that echoes off the concrete walls.
“That was a hundred dollars,” she snaps, but her voice is breathless and her hips are still grinding against mine.
“I’ll buy you ten new ones.” I don’t wait for a response. Her tits are bare now and I’m done talking.
I cup them in my hands, feeling the weight of them fill my palms perfectly. She arches her back, pressing herself more firmly into my grip, her head falling back on a moan. I squeeze gently, then harder, watching the way her face changes, the way her mouth falls open, the way her eyes flutter shut.
“This is such a mistake,” she pants, but her hands are already pulling at my shirt, tugging it up my stomach, her fingers brushing against my abs.
“The worst,” I agree, and I pull my shirt over my head and toss it somewhere behind me, not caring where it lands. I don’t care about anything except getting my mouth on her.
She’s staring at my chest now, her eyes tracking over my muscles. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and I watch it, transfixed, my cock throbbing in my sweatpants.
“Like what you see?” I ask.
“Don’t flatter yourself.” But she’s already reaching for me, her palms flat against my pecs, sliding up to my shoulders, down my arms. Her touch is slow, and everywhere her hands go my skin burns.
