Page 84 of Broken Warrior
“Go to hell, Fin.” I move to get off of him again but he’s still holding my hips, successfully keeping me on his lap by grinding me down on his dick—unintentionally—and I moan through my growl. “I’m not—”
His eyes flash in anger briefly, his fingers digging into my flesh. “I don’t think you understandwhythat’s so important,whyI’m so fixated on that one thing.”
“Because you’re a jackass.”
“Just fucking answer me.”
“No.”
“Tate.”
“I won’t. I won’t justify that question with an answer, not when I don’t want to acknowledge it at all!”
“Goddamnit, just fucking answer me!”
“No!” I shove at his shoulders, trying to wiggle free. “I shouldn’t even stay in this room with you after asking something like that. I deserve, and thought I had, more respect from you than that.”
“You do!” Fin’s hands move to my waist and hold tight. “I respect you more than anyone else.”
I scoff. “I call bullshit.”
“It’s true!”
“It can’t be! Not if you honestly think I’d fall in love with you, tell you, wait months for you, then start dating you just to turn around and cheat!” I scowl my hardest. “You have no respect for me if that’s what you think and I should leave because of it.”
“Then go!” Fin growls.
“Fine!”
“Ok then!”
My chest is heaving again, expanding and contracting quickly as we have the angriest staring contest known to man. I knew this was going to be hard, knew that our baggage and issues, our insecurities and all the things we’re both still working on, was going to make a relationship difficult in some ways. This is new to both of us, new and scary, but it’s more than worth it.
Finding love—true love—with your soulmate is always worth whatever bullshit is going on around you.
Which is the exact second things click into place and something inside of me starts speaking up.
Fin is my soulmate, my forever, and nothing matters except making a life with him and James.
I scan his face—arctic blues narrowed, cheeks a little flushed above the light beard, perfect lips pressed into a thin line—and everything I knew before becomes so obvious, so clear it’s nearly suffocating.
“Asshole,” I whisper, quickly leaning forward, my hands flying to his hair and tangling in those mahogany strands as I crush my lips to Fin’s.
He’s surprised at first, but only at first, because before I know it he’s kissing me back just as hard with just as much urgency. Fevered kisses, the kind I’ve only ever read about. The kind where lips bruise and teeth clash, where tongues glide and dance to a feral rhythm.
Passion and love, longing and desire coming to a head in a possessive way.
But it isn’t enough.
I need more.
I let go of his hair and rush to push his cut off his shoulders as Fin’s hands slide down my back to my ass where he grips hard, pulling me closer. We kiss until we can’t, until I can’t get his vest off without his help, and once the leather is gone, Fin reaches behind his head and pulls his t-shirt off before cupping my cheeks to kiss me again.
“M’eudail,” he groans as my fingers dance over his skin, my hands sliding over his chest, his abs then moving back up to do it all over again. “Tate…”
I don’t have any words.
No coherent ones, anyway.
