She’s mine now.
CHAPTER 10
Penelope
Who does this presumptuous asshole think he is?
His eyes look more green than gray tonight, and that wolfish smile is giving me hot, vaguely unhinged danger vibes. If he even thinks about putting his hands on me I’ll—his lips meet mine with a fierceness that takes my breath away. They’re commanding, and when I roll my lips closed and refuse him entry, he pinches my nipple through my shirt making me squawk. It’s exceedingly ladylike.
Not.
I’m not sure whether that gurgle at the back of my throat is indigestion, frustration, rage, or arousal but he takes it as a sign to do it again.
I push him back with both palms. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Kissing you until you don’t hate me anymore.”
“You could kiss me every day until the day I die, Tate Myers, and I’d still hate you with everything I’ve fucking got.”
He licks his lips. “Let’s find out.” He’s kissing me again, pressing my back against the door to his room, the handle digging into my hip, biting into my skin. His hands skim mybody, as it breaks out in a mist of sweat. He’s handling me like I belong to him.
He’s so freakin’ arrogant... privileged... the nerve! The assumption that his tongue in my mouth could wipe away my loathing for him, did he hit himself in the face with his hockey stick after he hit Oli?
He kisses deeper, pressing harder. His tongue lashing against mine like the crack of a whip, a ferocious battle for control taking place between us.
I could stop him.
I could say no. Ishouldsay no. I am more than capable of saying no. Despite me being pinned, I know if I stopped things, he’d let me walk. He would. And if for some reason he didn’t, I’d rip his balls from his body and take them with me as a trophy.
I shove him back again.
The guy is a beast. An athlete. He’s strong and toned and powerful. If he wanted to force himself on me, he could.
“Stop.” My voice is as shaky as my legs. I hate that he’s affecting me like this. But what I hate even more is that Iwanthim. At least my body does. My brain wants to impale him on something pointy.
He wipes his bottom lip with the side of his index finger, his eyes full of perilous fire and longing. “Is that what you really want?”
He takes a step back, the silence between us crackling with anticipation and lust. The space he has created between our bodies makes my nipples ache.
I hate that I want him.
I hate that I can’t think straight. It’s like he kissed the common sense out of my body.
When I stay quiet, the cocky fucker smirks. “That’s what I thought.” He cages me in, bracing his hands either side of me against the door. “Give me your mouth, Pitstop.”
“Eat shit, Myers.” I’m hoping the hardness of my voice, the unwavering coolness in my eyes will deter him. And I’m hoping the use of his surname will ground me in the fact I hate him, I hate his family, and I hate everything he stands for.
Except his smirk spreads to a wide smile. “I can’t say eating ass is my favorite.” He tips his head. “But for you...” He jerks his chin. “Bend over, Beautiful.”
That shouldn’t make me wetter. That shouldn’t stoke the fire I’m trying to douse with ice, or cold water, or whatever fire suppressant I can find inside my body.
But it does.
He kisses me again, and I can tell the moment he realizes I’ve given in. My body sags, and he moans in victory against my mouth. “There she is.”
I hate the fact he knows me and my reactions this well, most of all.
When his hand finds its way under my hockey shirt, I hold my breath. While I’ve not seen everyone Tate has slept with over the past year, I’ve seen the puck bunnies my brother fucks. I don’t look like them.
