Page 20 of Resist

The single thought staggers me in a way I never expected it to.

And then it’s swept away when Ryker’s mouth slides down the line of my neck, placing open-mouthed kisses there while my hand reaches out to cup the cock that’s all but bursting from his pants.

He moans, his teeth nipping my collarbone when I do.

There’s a greed on his part after that. It’s tangible. In the way he unzips the rest of my dress so it falls to the floor. In the way he pushes me against the wall behind us. In the antagonistic groans in the back of his throat as he palms my breast through the lace of my bra.

My eyes flutter shut as my head falls back against the wall behind me when his fingers slide down my torso and find their way beneath the small fabric swatch of my panties.

His cock, now free of his slacks, is thick and hard against my hip. His mouth—wet and warm—closes over the peak of my breast. His fingers, adept and resolute, part me and slide through the wetness to find me aroused.

And just as his fingers push their way into me and his lips close over mine, his tongue darting to meet mine with a touch more urgency this time, my world spins, tilts off its axis, and comes crashing down around me.

Memories I don’t recall. Sensations I don’t remember. They slam into me unexpectedly. Him being on top of me the most prevalent of all of them.

The shock hits me and knocks the breath out of me.

I must freeze . . . or shout or push Ryker away or . . . I don’t know, because he steps back with a strange look on his face—confusion mixed with a healthy dose of arousal, disbelief, and anger.

His hair is mussed from my fingers in it; his eyes are dark with desire, his body taut with need.

I violently try to shake the vile memory from my thoughts. Try to tell myself that going through my sister’s journals has messed with my mind. From the shock of falling into Ryker’s unexpected kiss to the sudden flashlight of my childhood recollections shining right into my eyes and melding the past and present together as one when they clearly are not.

Confused and lost in a memory that only presents as a stomach-churning sensation I can’t solidify, I know the best way to forget about it is to lose myself with the man in front of me.

To use him just as he is using me.

I step back into Ryker, fight the sudden revulsion roiling inside me, and try to use his lips and his body to stanch it.

“Saxony?”

Ryker looks at me with concern in his eyes, and it takes me a second to realize he’s saying what he thinks is my name. “What?”

He reaches out and cups the side of my face, thumb brushing over my jawline. I tell myself to shake his hand off—that the touch is too intimate for a woman like me—but I’m paralyzed by the look in his eyes.

“You look like you just saw a ghost,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I assert as my stomach pitches, only serving to encourage me further. I step into him again, but this time he bats my hands off his chest.

“Terrified sex isn’t my thing,” he says as I stare at him.

Lips lax, heart pounding, embarrassment swelling. What is wrong with me?

“Sorry, but I’m not into the rape-fantasy thing.” He takes a step back, hands held up in surrender.

My pride wars against shame as desperation edges the vulnerability I feel standing here before him, prompting me to lash out.

“Well, fumbling egomaniacs who want to be stroked and praised for their shitty kissing aren’t my thing either.” I shout the baseless lie at him. Those words stop him in his tracks as tears I don’t want to shed well in my eyes. My heart pounds like a freight train in my ears as adrenaline just adds a kick to it.

And then I see it. The transformation of his expression from annoyance to shock to fury. “You’re a fucking virgin, aren’t you?” He takes another step back, with his hands running through his hair and his exasperation so tangible it’s rolling off him in waves and slamming into me. “Jesus Christ. What the fuck?”

“I’m not,” I tell him, my head shaking back and forth just as vehemently as the shame that’s suddenly beginning to swamp me. I’m a woman who’s always in control, and right now I can’t control anything, including the emotions swirling around inside me. “I’m not a virgin.”

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he shouts at me.

“Apparently.” My confusion and embarrassment morph into mortification and anger. “I thought I could do this with you . . .” He stalks back across the room, body primed for sex, face a mask of fury. “But you’re just . . .” I shudder in revulsion that’s in no way because of him. “I can’t.”

Something alights in his eyes at my veiled insult. At the disgust my face reflects that’s misdirected at him. Something dark and dangerous, and I take a step back so that I bump into the wall he had me pressed against moments ago.