And that’s when the world tilts.
There’s another man inmyhouse.
Inmybed.
Withmygirl.
Rage surges, red-hot and lethal, and before I know what I’m doing, I storm down the hall and throw open the door.
“What the fuck?!” The guy jolts like he’s seen death itself. Blair shrieks, clutching the bedsheet to her chest. Both of them still have their pants on, but the intentions are obvious.
“Calvin?” she gasps.
I don’t even look at her. I point.
“Don’t say my fucking name.”
The guy fumbles with his shirt like that’s going to save him. I let him finish. I want him to think he’s got a chance.
Then I move.
One clean punch. Right to the jaw. His head snaps back, and he stumbles.
“Calvin!” Blair screams, and just like that, she’s between us, her tiny frame pressing against my chest, one arm out like she’s some kind of shield. While the other holds up the bed sheet to cover her upper body.
That sends me over the fucking edge.
“Don’t,” I growl through gritted teeth, “ever put yourself between me and another man again.”
She flinches, and I hate that. I hate this entire situation with my whole being.
I turn my eyes on the bastard behind her, dark with fury.
“And you. You’ve got sixty seconds to get the fuck out of my house. If you’re still standing here on sixty-one, I swear to God you’ll be crawling out, if you’re lucky.”
The guy freezes, pale and wide-eyed, but I don’t stick around to see if he stumbles or crawls his way out. One last glance at the scene, ather,before I storm down the hall, fists clenched, teeth grinding.
In my room, I head straight to the bar, rip the cork off a bottle of Hennessy, and pour two fingers before knocking itback in one go, the burn barely cutting through the fire already tearing through me.
“Fuck.” I snarl, dragging a hand over my face as I pace the room like a caged animal, lungs burning, heart racing. What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve had women, more than I can count. Girlfriends I might’ve even loved, once or twice. But I’ve never acted like this. Never felt like this. This obsession, this unhinged, possessive rage, is not normal. Not for someone who prides himself on control. And over her? A girl too young, too wild, absolutely fucking forbidden? This is something darker than infatuation or lust. And I should probably see someone about it. A priest. A shrink. An exorcist. Fuck.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Blair’s voice slices through the room.
I spin around, chest heaving. She at least put on a shirt, but she’s barefoot. Her face is flushed, eyes blazing. She’s furious. She has every right to be. And I don’t give a single fuck.
“Is he gone?” I ask, my jaw tight.
“Calvin!” she shouts, throwing her hands up in frustration.
“Didn’t I fucking tell you not to call my name?” I bite out in a low voice. “Especially not when you just had another man in my house. In my space.” I grit out. “Now answer the question, Blair. Is. He. Fucking. Gone?”
“Yes, he’s gone!” she fires back. “Is that what this is about? That I brought someone over? That I was going to fuck him?” Her voice climbs higher. “News flash, I can fuck whoever the hell I want!”
In two strides, I’m in front of her, close enough to feel the heat radiating off her body, close enough to want to devour her again, but I restrain.
“Watch it,” I warn, my voice dark and tense. “I don’t have the patience or the energy to deal with your smart mouth right now. Not today.”
She doesn’t back down. Of course she doesn’t.
