“What condition?” He fought the curiosity that spiked his tone.
“Moodyarseholeitus.”
Kace controlled his face, keeping his lips carefully composed into their usual frown. Tension twisted between them, an almost physical abrasion along his skin. “You have an inflated sense of ego as a baker.”
“You’re insufferable,” she said, nibbling the edge of the cookie. “It’s a shame you weren’t nicer, it really is delicious.”
His beast punched through his mind, forcing a growl from deep within his chest. “What are you doing?”
Eva blinked her large eyes innocently. “I’m not doing anything?” Her pink tongue swiped her bottom lip, catching a crumb. “I just wanted us to be civil because I don’t know how long you’re going to be hanging around, but it seems you’re still a moody arsehole.”
A red mist descended across his vision, panic hitching his breath before he blinked and found himself across the short space, his hand wrapped around her throat as he pinned her against her own door. He savoured her sharp fear, needing it, the control something he craved.
The cookie dropped to the floor at her gasp, and for some reason he had taken it as an invitation. She was frozen beneath his touch for only the briefest of seconds, her lips tasting of chocolate and fucking heaven before she moaned against his tongue.
It made his cock twitch.
His cock never twitched. Not for anyone.
His hand moved up, sinking into her hair and tugging sharply, causing her to inhale before releasing a groan that he took as only encouragement. He angled her better for his next kiss, the connection bruising, raw as he wanted to punish her with little nips across those delicious lips.
Her hands stroked up his chest, and he expected a hard shove. He braced for it, deciding he wanted to push her a little more until her lips were swollen from his kiss as penance for her ridiculous teasing. What did she expect when she poked the big, bad, beast? Instead, she tugged at his t-shirt, pulling him closer with a moan. His cock jumped this time at the sound, straining against the seam of his jeans.
A purr inside his mind, the sound fucking alien as he lifted her higher, settling her heavier on the door as she instinctively wrapped those shapely legs around his waist. His hands spread across her thighs, on bare skin as the obscenely short skirt she wore hitched around her hips to reveal black lace that barely covered the place he craved to taste.
His fingers stroked closer to the fabric, teasing the edge to feel the damp heat already soaking through. He tore her underwear as if they were paper, her cry captured in his mouth when he speared through her molten folds, his thumb circling her clit with just the right amount of pressure.
When she made a sound between a whimper and a growl he inserted another finger, curling them forward as her internal muscles stretched at the invasion. Her body rocked on his hand as much as her position would allow, her head flung back as she cried, growing wetter until he couldn’t take it anymore. Ignoring the sharp pain against his cock, so hard it was about to break in half he dropped to his knees, settling her down unsteadily on her feet before hooking one of her legs over his shoulder.
She screamed at the first stroke of his tongue, and he growled, repeating every lick as she wriggled against his face.
She tasted fucking delicious.
He had never gone down on a female, never caring about his partner enough to concentrate solely on their pleasure. His experience with sex wasn’t a good one, a quick release and nothing more. But he now knew what he was missing all these years, how he could feel every ripple as his tongue explored her in both quick and slow strokes, learning from subtle twitches of her muscles and cries of pleasure what pressure she preferred.
Eva liked it harder, giving him little impatient moans when he gentled his caresses into languorous strokes. He found he preferred that too, unable to control himself as her breathing sped up into heavy pants. Her body tensed, and as he moved to suck the little bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs she exploded, tightening around his fingers that touched deep.
She pushed at his shoulders, hands sweeping down to the front of his jeans as soon as she had the space. He knew he should stop her, especially when his beast was riding him so but he found himself wanting her touch, needing it as much as his next breath. So he didn’t stop her when her small hand attempted to wrap around his aching length.
A metal squeak. Footsteps ascending.
Kace had removed her from his cock and stepped back to the other side of the hall before the door to the stairs flung open. He remained silent as Kyra walked past towards her flat, frowning at them both. If she noticed the wet sheen along his jaw, or the black lace on the floor she didn’t comment.
Not that he cared, because there it was, the gentle shade of pink burning Eva’s cheekbones.
Kace opened his eyes to stare at the scarred metal of the lockers, Eva’s cries of release still echoing inside his head.
What the fuck was he doing? He was supposed to be preparing, concealing his beast behind a carefully composed mask. Yet, instead he was remembering the most erotic experience of his life, his beast pressing at the confines of his mind to hunt her down and make her finish whatshehad started.
Breathe. In. Two. Three. Out. Two. Three.
Rainbows. Waterfalls. Blood.
He needed to think of anything but Eva, because it did the opposite of keeping him calm. And he needed to be calm when he stepped into the next room, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to stop his reaction when he set his eyes on the fresh bruises amongst the kids. Because there would be bruises, and probably even worse injuries that they tried to hide beneath baggy clothes. There always was. And then the rage would come, the endless fire in the centre of his chest that would consume him until he was nothing but an obsidian void capable of nothing but slaughter.
Kace dragged a hand down his face, letting out a grumble.
“You need another minute, Red?” Marshall asked, poking his head inside the room. He held a hoody in his hand, the garment new with the label still attached. It wasn’t designer, or anything ostentatious that would likely be stolen. It was simply black, thick and warm.
