That was satisfying. Or… it should’ve been.
But on the walk down the hallway to the elevators, the satisfaction curdles. It settles weirdly in my stomach, sharp and acidic, like guilt pretending not to be something other than what it is.
He deserved it. Right?
It’s not like he hasn’t been pushing my buttons nonstop since the day he got here. The smirking. The stupid jokes. The way he says my name like he’s licking the inside of my skull—Lincoln—over-pronounced every time. And the pet names. God, the fucking pet names. Always whispered in my ear like some kind of filthy taunt when we’re on the mats.He’sthe one that’s been trying to get a reaction out ofme, just as much as the other way around.
So I should be able to enjoy this victory, whether or not I’m the one that messed with his tires.
I reach the elevators, thinking about watching him from the window of my floor, just to see if he’s still pacing around the parking lot like an angry wet cat.
Before I can push the button for my floor, a sudden weight slams into my back. My chest hits the wall so hard the breath punches out of me. A heavy arm bars across the back of my neck, pinning me in place. The pressure is firm, unyielding, terrifying. It sends a shock straight through my body in a way I absolutely do not want to acknowledge.
A voice growls in my ear. Low, rough, and spine tinglingly familiar.
“You think that shit was funny?”
My breath shorts out. Brody isn’t just upset. He’s furious. I can feel it radiating off him, hot and crackling and so dangerous it makes my knees weak.
“I didn’t—” My voice comes out cracked, pathetic. I try to steel myself. “Get off me.”
He presses harder. Not enough to hurt, just enough that I can’t move. Enough that my entire traitorous body goes stiff. Myentirebody.
He notices, because of course he does. He’s the harbinger of my personal doom. Of course he has to notice my weakness.
A dark scoff huffs out of him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Before I can tell him to shut up or push him off, the elevator dings behind us, signaling that someone is coming this way. I consider calling out, but something keeps me quiet while Brody curses under his breath and drags me sideways, gripping the back of my neck like it’s a handle. He yanks me into the stairwell,slamming the door shut behind us and manhandling me against the wall.
I stumble, breath hitching, spine pressed to the cinderblock wall. He doesn’t let me go. His arm comes up again, pinning me in place with a force that shouldn’t ignite every nerve ending I have?—
But it does. God help me, it does.
He leans in close. So close I can feel his breath stir the hair at my temple.
“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs.
A shiver rips down my spine.
I try to speak, try to snarl something back. Try to regain even a fraction of control. But my throat is tight, and my jaw won’t work, and I can’t get air into my lungs.
Every inch of my skin prickles, oversensitive like the pain of a limb waking up when it hasn’t gotten enough circulation. Probably because all the blood in my body has rushed straight to my dick. Why the fuck is my dick so hard?
His blue eyes are burning holes through me. Seeing everything. Knowing everything. The same way he looked at me that day on the mat, two years ago, only less surprised and more like he’s blaming me for it. Like he could see the exact moment my body betrayed me and he thinks I’m pathetic.
His gaze drags downward, so slowly.
His lips part.
“…Lincoln,” he says, voice dropping to something dark and disbelieving. “You’re shaking.”
I am. Goddamn it, I am. So much so that I can’t even correct him for using my first name.
My knees feel loose. My pulse is pounding—in my throat, my wrists, then lower, and lower… Heat rolls through me, humiliating and impossible to hide.
Brody’s jaw ticks.
“You like this,” he says softly.
