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I glared. He fumed. Neither of us budged.
“Fuck!” he yelled, running a hand through his wavy hair. “You drive me bug-fuck crazy.”
I coaxed my muscles to relax after my fight instinct had kicked in. “So, the unflappable Prince of Tranquility can be riled. Good to know.”
“It appears to be one of your talents,” he grumbled.
“If you don’t like it, walk away.” My voice took on a harsh edge.
“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about it.”
Silence.
When he glanced my direction, he must have seen that I’d gone rigid. I was a shattered piece of pottery, put back together by my own hands. Proud of my imperfections, but flawed nonetheless. Despite how much I didn’t want to lose my identity, his rejection burned deeply. Deeper than I would ever admit.
Like a sharp knife across the jugular, he sliced through the space between us, grasping my face in his hands and assaulting my lips with his. His tongue licked and savored, saying what his words hadn’t—he may not have been happy about it, but he wanted me.
I could relate to the sentiment.
I felt the same way.
My prior warning about not touching me without consent was a distant memory. His name and my family were dandelion seeds scattered to the wind. In the alternate reality of our kiss, everything else ceased to exist.
Reveling in the absolute freedom, I surrendered to his kiss and melted into his touch. His hands slid down to my backside, lifting me against him and coaxing me into his arms. I wrapped my hands behind his neck as he walked us to the kitchen and set me down on the counter, pushing aside my guns.
“Do you have any fucking idea how sexy it was when you opened the door with a Glock in your hand? And this tiny tank top without a bra—I though I was going to come in my pants.” He spoke with his lips against my neck, raking his teeth across the sensitive skin while his fingers ran up and down beneath the thin strap of my camisole.