He's close now. Close enough that I can smell that same scent that's been driving me crazy since he showed up. Up close, I can see the marks I left on his throat earlier. Purple bruises in the shape of my fingers. He caught me looking.
"Like what you see?"
"Shut up."
"I think they look good. Might tattoo them on later. Put ‘Courtesy of Jinx’ across my chest."
“Fucking hell, do you ever shut the fuck up?” I grab the back of his neck and crush my mouth against his.
The kiss is brutal. All teeth and tongue, no finesse, no tenderness. He bites my lower lip hard enough to draw blood and I growl into his mouth, grabbing the back of his head, pulling him closer. His hands grab my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, and he hauls me against him until we're pressed together from chest to thigh.
He's hard. His cock straining against his pants, thick and insistent against my crotch. I'm just as hard, have been since I made the decision to come here, and the friction when he grinds against me makes me lose control.
"Shirt off," he orders against my mouth.
"Don't tell me what to do."
"Then I'll do it myself."
He grabs the hem of my shirt and yanks it over my head. I let him, which is a concession I'll examine later, and then his hands are on my bare chest, tracing the scars and tattoos, thumbs brushing over my nipples hard enough to make me hiss.
"Fuck," I breathe.
"That's the plan."
I shove him backward. He hits the bed, bounces once, and I'm on him before he can recover. I pin his wrists above his head with one hand and straddle his hips, looking down at him.
"Here's how this works," I say. "I don't do gentle. I don't do sweet. You want soft and romantic, find someone else."
"Do I look like I want soft and romantic?"
"You look like you want to get fucked."
His eyes darken. "So fuck me."
I release his wrists and sit back, hands going to his belt. He lifts his hips, helping me drag his pants down, and then he's naked beneath me. His cock springs free, thick and flushed, curving up toward his stomach. A bead of precum glistens at the tip.
I wrap my hand around him and stroke once, rough, watching his face contort.
"Jesus Christ, fuck."
"That's not my name."
"It's the only name I've got." He thrusts into my grip, chasing friction. "You gonna keep teasing or are you gonna do something about it?"
I release him and climb off the bed. His eyes track me as I strip off my pants, kicking them aside. My cock juts out in front of me, hard and aching, and I see his gaze drop to it. See him lick his lips.
"Like what you see?" I throw his words back at him.
"Get over here and I'll show you how much."
I grab him by the ankle and yank him to the edge of the bed. He grunts at the rough treatment but doesn't resist. I push his thighs apart, step between them, and lean down to bite his neck hard enough to leave a mark.
He groans and arches into me. His hands come up to rake down my back, nails digging into my skin. The pain is sharp and perfect, exactly what I need.
"Harder," I growl against his throat.
He obliges, scratching deep enough to draw blood. The wet heat of it trails down my spine and it only makes me harder, makes me want to tear him apart and put him back together again.
