“I know exactly what you want,” I counter, moving my hand to cup her face. “You want me to make the decision for you. To take away the guilt, the shame, the fucking indecision that’s eating you alive.”
She swallows hard, her eyes never leaving mine. “That’s not?—“
“Isn’t it?” I slide my other hand to her face, framing it between my palms. Her skin is so soft, so warm. “You want me to be the villain so you can pretend you’re not just as rotten as me.”
Her eyes flash with rage, but there’s something else there too—a vulnerability that makes my cock twitch despite my exhaustion. I can see the battle raging inside her, the way she wants to both slap me and climb me like a fucking tree.
I drop my hands from her face and step back. “I once told you I wouldn’t touch you until you asked me to.”
I turn away from her, suddenly tired of this endless dance we’re doing. My muscles ache, my head is pounding, and I’m sick of waiting for her to admit what we both already know.
I’ve taken three steps toward my bedroom when I feel her grab my arm, spinning me around with surprising strength. My back hits the wall with a dull thud that knocks my head back.
“Don’t walk away from me,” she hisses, pressing her body against mine. “Don’t walk away from what you make me feel.” Her hands grip the front of my bare chest, nails digging into my skin. “I hate you, and I want you to touch me.”
A slow smile spreads across my face as I look down at her, this beautiful, furious creature who can’t decide if she wants to fuck me or kill me. It’s probably both.
“Okay, beautiful,” I murmur, reversing our positions in one fluid motion so she’s the one pinned against the wall. “I’ll touch you.”
I lean down until my lips brush against her ear, inhaling her rage. “But I want you to keep that hate fresh in your mind, ‘cause I’m bout to fuck you like I hate you too.”
Her breath hitches, pupils dilating until there’s barely any hazel left. I drag my teeth along her neck, biting down just hard enough to make her gasp. My hand slides under her skirt, fingers tracing the edge of her panties.
“Last chance to back out,” I growl against her throat. “Tell me to stop now, or I’m going to ruin you.”
“Just shut up and do it,” she snaps, her hands already fumbling with the waistband of my shorts.
“Bossy little bitch.”
“I don’t know if I can hate you any more,” she breathes, her hands already moving to my bare chest, nails dragging down my skin.
“Try harder,” I growl, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head with one hand. “Because I’ve been hating how much I want you for years.”
Her breath hitches when my fingers brush against the lace of her underwear. She’s already wet, the fabric damp beneath my touch. I press harder, rubbing slow circles through the thin material.
Yanking my hand away from her heat, I grab her waist and hoist her up in one fluid motion, throwing her over my shoulder like she weighs nothing. She gasps, her body tensing as I secure her with an arm around her thighs.
“Put me down!” she shrieks, pounding her fists against my back.
I ignore her protests, my hand finding her ass cheek and gripping it hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh like it might try to escape if I don’t hold it firmly in place. The feel of her pressed against me, squirming and cursing, makes my dick throb painfully.
“Stop fucking squirming,” I command, squeezing her ass harder as I stride toward my bedroom.
“You absolute caveman!” She’s still hitting my back, but her voice betrays her. She’s not nearly as outraged as she’s pretending to be.
Shoving my bedroom door open with my foot, I walk us to the bed and toss her down. She bounces once.
Before she can scramble away, I flip her over onto her stomach, grabbing her hips and dragging her up to her hands and knees. She tries to collapse forward, but I hold her in position, one hand pressed between her shoulder blades.
“Stay,” I order, my voice rough with need.
“I’m not your fucking dog,” she spits, but she stays on her hands and knees, her ass raised perfectly in the air.
I run my hand up the back of her thigh, pushing her skirt up to her waist. The sight of her bent over like this, her ass framed by those tiny black panties, makes me groan. I hook my fingers into the waistband and yank them down to her knees in one harsh movement.
“Look at you,” I murmur, running my palm over the curve of her ass. “So fucking wet you’re dripping down your thighs. All this for me? And here I thought you hated me.”
“I do hate you,” she pants, her hips pushing back against my hand. “Doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy your hands and tongue. I love orgasms, Lucien.”
