Sting doesn’t stop kissing me.
Armen’s footsteps approach slowly.
“Sting,” he says warningly. Sting finally pulls back just enough for breath. His eyes are dark. Dangerous.
“You keep pushing,” he murmurs against my mouth. “And this is what you get.”
My chest heaves. “You’re distracting me.”
“Yes,” he says. “On purpose.”
Rogue chuckles.
Armen’s gaze burns into me. “You don’t get answers by poking lions.”
“Then what do I get?” I whisper.
Sting leans in again, lips brushing my temple. “You get us.”
My pulse goes wild. Anger and want twist together so tight, I can’t tell which is stronger.
“This isn’t over,” I breathe.
“No,” Armen agrees. “But you’re done asking.”
Sting presses into my hip, possessive. “For now.”
I swallow hard. The corridor feels too small. Too hot. “Fine,” I say. “But you’re not scaring me off.”
Rogue grins with his eyes. “Good.”
Sting kisses me once more, quick, rough, enough to leave my lips tingling, then steps back.
People could walk by any second. And I don’t care nearly enough. I straighten my shirt, pulse racing. I turn and walk away before my knees give out.
Frustrated. Flushed. Burning.
42
VI
Sting doesn’t letme get far.
I make it maybe halfway down the corridor before his hand wraps around my wrist again, firm and unyielding, stopping me mid-step. The contact sends a jolt straight up my arm and into my chest.
“Not done,” he says.
I turn sharply. “We are.”
His eyes say otherwise.
Behind him, Armen and Rogue close in, not crowding me but boxing the moment in. The noise of the food court fades as people move past the corridor entrance, oblivious to what’s about to happen just a few feet away.
Sting studies my face like he’s weighing something. “You keep poking things that bite,” he says.
“Someone has to,” I shoot back, sounding braver than I am.
Jesus. I need to shut my damn mouth.
