The room spins. My head’s ready to explode, but I’m grateful because that mindless fury that would’ve sent me all the way down to Florida, guns blazing, is gone.
Broadway catches a bottle of water Ryder tosses, downs half of it, and pours the rest over his face.
“There’s more where that came from,” he says, holding out his hand to help me up. “Find me when you’re feeling murderous.”
Oh, I will. No doubt about it.
27
Leilani
Koby storms into the apartment, hair a mess, eyes wild, blood staining his shirt, neck, and hands.
My shoulders tense. He’s wearing violence like a second skin and doesn’t seem ready to stop. He doesn’t strip the soiled clothes off, doesn’t rush to the bathroom for a shower, just scans the room, searching for me.
My breathing slows, panic creeping in, but I calm down when he spots me and instead of rage in his stare, I see need. Raw, desperate, feral desire.
He charges right at me, dropping to his knees in front of the couch before I can say a word or close the book I’m reading. His big hands, knuckles torn, find my thighs and he drags me straight into his arms.
“Koby—”
The rest of that sentence gets swallowed by a brutal kiss. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, his fingers tangle in my hair,and he forces my head back to take more. The metallic taste of blood mixes with the tang of whiskey, and mint.
“What’s wrong?” I gasp when he breaks away.
Instead of an answer, I get his teeth on my lower lip. He bites hard enough to sting, then sucks the spot and takes my mouth again. He’s trembling against me, barely holding himself together, and his hands are everywhere at once, gripping my neck, sliding under my shirt, nails scratching along my spine.
“Koby, what’s wrong?” I try again, fisting his blood-soaked shirt.
“I need to be inside you,” he grunts against my throat, his arm crushing me against his muscular chest. “Fuck, I missed you.” He sucks a spot in the curve of my neck until I’m sure he’s left a red, angry mark.
“Anton’s callingtomorrow!” I whack his chest. “He’ll see!”
“I don’t give a fuck. You’re not his. You’re mine.”
He tosses me back on the couch, his body covering mine. His cock grinds into me so hard the seams of his jeans dig into my thighs. He does it again, and I moan, yanking his head down so I can suck a hickey right over his pulse point.
“You’re mine.”
“Jesus...” he grunts, wrapping his arms around me. With little effort, he pulls us upright, then lifts me into his arms, his mouth still glued to my skin. “Bed. Now.”
I don’t bother asking what’s wrong again.Somethinghappened or he wouldn’t come home this bloodied and shaken up. He needs me to find equilibrium. To pull himself back from the rage seeping from him in palpable waves. I let him drop me on the bed, shamelessly turned on.
“Safe word,” he demands, dark eyes eating me alive.
I lift my eyebrow. “You still had a shadow of a bruise on your jaw this morning from when I punched you the other day, Koby.”Now it’s bright red. Someone aggravated the sore spot with a fist much bigger than mine. “If anyone needs a safe word, it’s you.”
“Picka fucking safe word, Leilani.” He tears his belt free in a sharp motion. “We’re playing my game tonight. I need you to use a different word fromstopif you need me to actually stop.”
That’s new. Koby’s always a hurricane in bed. Intense, demanding, dominating. And so am I. We’re both a little crazy, enjoying a rough, wild ride more than most, but it sounds like he’s about to push the limits.
I think he needs to lose himself in something sharper, darker, something all-consuming. Koby’s a restless being. Sitting still doesn’t come easy to him and tonight, I think if he stops moving, the weight of whatever left him soaked in blood will finish him.
He wants to drown the world out.
“Fine.Petal.”
His jaw tightens. I knew it would, he hates it when Anton calls me that. He hates every single one of those nicknames, but this one holds a special dark spot in Koby’s mind.
