Page 59 of Into Pitch

“And yet here you are,” He purrs.

“Only because you snatched me! It was not my choice!”

“Mmm… I think it’s all rather romantic.”

I scoff. “Get away from me.”

He—of course—doesn’t. Because when has he ever done anything he is told?

Instead, his grip loosens just a fraction. “You can scream. You can hit me again. Or you can stop running.”

I hate him.

I hate myself.

I hate that some reckless, traitorous part of me thrills at being seen so clearly.

“Fuck you,” I whisper again, weaker this time. It’s becoming a mantra of mine rapidly.

His mouth curves again, and I realize he has a dimple in his right cheek when he lets himself truly smile.

“Say it like you mean it.”

I lift my chin, ready to bite out another insult—

And he kisses me.

I gasp in surprise and he takes advantage of it, swiping his tongue in to dominate my own just long enough to steal the air from my lungs and all thoughts from my head. My body reacts before my mind can catch up and he releases my hands.

They fall to cup his face as he gets to tugging my pants off of me.

I’d like to say I held my ground. That I did the big girl thing and fought him off and found reality, faith, God—anything.

Instead, I kiss him like every answer to every question is somewhere in that mouth and all I have to do is plunder it. Dig it out with my tongue as his hand catches the back of my thigh and he hoists me just high enough off the ground to even us out, his zipper being tugged loud between us. His hand braces against the tree over my shoulder as he lines up and thrusts in without preamble.

I moan, the sound downright filthy in the delicate space of the forest. My lips break from his as my forehead drops to his own. Each thrust of his hips driving my back up the bark as he holds my gaze.

God, he’s beautiful when he’s lost himself in the moment.

It hurts to see it.

His dark hair falling across his brow in a way it never does, the hue of his eyes more cerulean than ice when he’s inside of me. Like the fire in him burns so hot that its color has saturated and found home there. I arch against him, one foot barely brushing the ground as he holds the other hoisted up onto his hip.

Our moans the only words we allow as he takes, and takes, and takes.

He adjusts his grip, turning my hips into him and I see stars as my orgasm explodes through me violent and unbidden. My cry broken only because his lips slam into my own, our teeth knocking as he groans out and finishes inside of me.

Thank fuck for birth control, or we’d be in some serious trouble right now.

I slowly come down from the high he’s shoved me up into and he gently lowers my feet back to solid ground. A soft whimper breaking from my throat as he pulls from me, his eyes never leaving my own as he ducks to grab my pants. My hands drop to his shoulder, stuck in this strange limbo of silence as he pulls them back up and settles them around my hips.

I make to open my mouth, but he beats me to it. Righting his clothes in the next breath.

“Don’t fight me for like ten minutes.” He whispers and my throat closes off.

I make it clear with my glare that is exactly what I want to do, and he only smiles as he lifts me up bridal style into his arms.

The bastard is using his dick to win fights and I’m going to have to figure out a way to even the playing field and find advantage.