Page 11 of The Kings of Kearny

His eyes bored into mine. “What was best case?”

I set my beer down and sent him a sly smile. “Best case was us breaking my bedframe.”

In a blink, my butt landed on top of the kitchen island. He’d lifted me onto it like I weighed nothing. It was sexy as fuck, but I winced when I hit, my battle scars reminding me that I couldn’t have a single pain-free moment to myself.

His hands stilled and fell to my waist. He must have seen me flinch.

“It’s my goddamn leg,” I said. “Ignore it. I’m trying to.”

Instead of kissing me, like I hoped he was about to, he turned away.

I reached out and snagged the back of his shirt. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He sent me a look over his shoulder that had no right to be so devastating. “I’m getting you that aspirin you asked for.”

I released him. “I’ll allow it.”

He chuckled, a low rumbling sound like distant thunder, and pulled open a kitchen drawer.

I took the aspirin from him a minute later and popped two in my mouth, swallowing with a sip of beer. “You know, I think I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you laugh.”

He stepped between my legs and planted his hands on either side of my hips, crowding in close. A little line appeared between his brows as he stared down at me, and I got an up close and personal view of hisfuck youface. The intimidation tactic was only slightly ruined by the way his eyes shone like he was secretly amused.

“And you were going to tell me about the fact that you’ve been stalking me when?” he asked, throwing my own words back in my face.

“Ha ha,” I said, but I was struggling not to smile. “It’s not that. I’m just... aware of you when you’re in the bar.”

“I don’t laugh much in the bar,” he said.

“No, you don’t.”

There was a story there as to why, I couldfeelit, but if two minutes ago had taught me anything, it was that I wasn’t going to get answers from him that he didn’t want to give me. Fine. I didn’t need them. It’s not like I wanted his whole life story or had planned our marriage vows out in my head. I didn’t even want to be his girlfriend. I just wanted to strip him naked and do terrible, debauched things with him over the course of a marathon weekend that made both of us walk funny for the next week.

I reached out and grabbed his shirt again, this time using it to pull him closer. He braced his hands on the counter, biceps straining, and came to a full stop with his mouth an inch away from mine. I growled in frustration and tried to close the distance, but he straightened away.

“Wouldn’t want to touch you without permission,” he said.

I gave him a flat look. “You just picked me up and put me on your counter.”

“I was getting a crick in my neck looking down at you,” he said. “This is different.”

From the small grin he wore, I could tell he was at least partially joking, but the fact that he remembered what I said to him in the bar and was subtly telling me that I was now in charge of any contact between us was hot as hell. If I told him to stop, I had no doubt that he would back away and wouldn’t try anything with me again.

The thing was, I wanted him to tryeverythingwith me.

My focus fell to his lips. “Consider this permission granted to touch me as much as you want for the rest of the night.”

It was like I’d thrown a switch. The words barely left my mouth before he was on me. His lips crashed into mine. Our chests bumped together, my breasts flattened against the hard planes of his pectoral muscles. I reached up, desperate to grab hold of something, and wrapped my arms around his neck. He leaned into me harder, and my butt slid a little over the marble counter, away from him. From his low growl, he didn’t like that. One big hand landed on my ass, and he dragged me back to him, the motion an inaudible command of,“Get the fuck back here.”

He might have looked like some half-frozen Viking raider, but he kissed like he was on fire. His lips were hot and demanding on mine. My head spun as I tried to keep up with him. This wasn’t foreplay; he’d gone straight to fucking me with his mouth.

I nearly moaned when he broke away.

He stayed there, lips tantalizingly close, the warmth of his breath rushing over my skin. “Will it hurt if I pick you up?”

It took me a second to remember how to speak. “Yeah, but walking will hurt more.”

I tightened my arms around his neck and hooked my feet behind his back, and he dropped his hands to my ass and lifted me off the counter. The apartment blurred around me as he turned toward his room. I took full advantage of the position I was in and pressed my nose to his neck, breathing in his cologne. On instinct, I parted my lips and gently bit him. He made a low sound of masculine approval and pulled me closer, dick straining between us.

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