Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52277 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 261(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
His arrogant, condescending words sliced through her and the residual hurt she was feeling dried up as her chest began burning with anger. "Oh, fuck you," she said easily. Could she kick him in the balls right now? And how hard? Fury almost choking her, she pulled away with all her might, but he still wouldn't release her. "Let me go, Damian."
"I don't think so, baby." One hand slid to her chin and lifted. "Something's going on with you that I don't care for and I want to know what it is."
Her jaw tightened against his palm. "You want to know what it is?" she repeated, so mad she could barely speak.
He nodded his head, his thumb running over her bottom lip as his eyes lit with a heat she forced herself to ignore.
She clenched her teeth. "You're an asshole."
She could tell her words hit him where it hurt because his thumb immediately pressed against her bottom lip, holding it against her teeth. He gave her a scalding glare and accusation burned from his eyes. "Is this about last night? I thought we'd moved past that."
Moved past it? Could he really be that dense? He'd been asleep when she'd come from the shower and gone when she woke this morning; as usual, slinking out sometime in the middle of the night, like they had something to be ashamed of. She was hit with another flare of temper. "You're pretty quick, aren't you?"
His eyes turned to gleaming slits of warning. His hand left her arm and slid into her hair; he held her hostage with his hand gripping her scalp. "I don't care for your tone, sweetheart."
"What are you going to do about it?" She lifted her chin, her expression truculent.
"You're going to find out if you keep up the attitude."
Attitude? Tone? Her attitude? She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. "You don't like my tone? What about yours? 'I don't care for your tone,'" she mimicked him. "Aren't you trying to scare me into thinking you're going to hurt me or something?"
He looked thunderstruck. "Fuck, no."
"Well, you're obviously threatening me with something--"
Her words were cut off as with a look of pure frustration, his head lowered and his mouth swooped down over hers. He didn't wait for permission; his tongue plunged inside in the semblance of the sex act. He impaled her before thrusting in and out, in a fierce rhythm that pounded her body against the wall. He reached down and encircled her waist with one arm to stabilize her, while he continued to grip her skull with his other hand.
He kissed her repeatedly, a low, guttural groan emerging from his chest as he pushed against her, his erection hard and throbbing against the softer skin of her stomach. The second that Angie began sinking under his erotic spell, she began to fight it. She couldn't be this easy. She wouldn't be.
In that moment, like a bolt of lightning, she acknowledged to herself that she wanted to win. Douche or not, she liked him, she liked him a lot. Maybe not as in 'marriage-liked', but she needed time to figure out how she felt about him. And if she kept letting him have his way with everything, she'd bore him to tears within another few weeks. She was semi-surprised that he was still this hot and heavy for her. Still, she didn't like where her thoughts were going because she didn't want to play games with him. But how the hell were you supposed to win if you refused to play the stupid game in the first place?
With that thought, she pulled her mouth from his and twisted her head away. She began to push her hands between them. A punishing sound of protest came from his throat as he pushed his torso against her, pinning her to the wall. His fists dropped between them and pushed her hands away. With quick, methodical movements, he began unfastening the zipper on her jeans.
A streak of panic ran down her spine. Lifting her hands back to his chest, she began pushing against him but it was pointless, he was like an immovable object against her puny efforts as he continued to work on her clothing. With a last ditch effort to save her dignity before she caved and fell back in with him, she employed the word she'd yet to use in their relationship. "Stop."
His hands fell still between them, and he was motionless for a moment. And then he lifted his head and stared into her eyes.
"Stop," she whispered this time.
A look of tortured pain crossed his features and he began taking in huge gulps of oxygen. Finally, he released her and then slowly stepped away. He turned around and walked across the room, and then he leaned his hands against her dinette table and hung his head, breathing deeply, tension in every line of his body.