Page 30 of Manhattan Tormentor

The rain pelting the top of my head went unnoticed for the past five minutes while I waited outside. So sure he wouldn’t have the balls to turn up at my house until he climbed out of a cab and prowled up to the gates.

My fingers tighten in his hair and I expect him to rage into violence.

I’m past caring what he’ll do. Not when he’s chuffing air in my face.

“Nothing to say?” I taunt like a dumbass.

He growls. “Stop talking.” Then he goes for my mouth. In my surprise, I let go of his hair. But he’s already latched onto the back of my head, angling me closer. His lips are hard and unrelenting in his pursuit to tear mine open.

“Fucking kiss me back,” he demands with anger laced through his voice. Digging his fingers into the back of my neck, he all but yanks me into his body where we fuse.

He kisses me as though he hates the very air coming out of my lungs. Every swipe of his tongue forces a groan out of me, and he answers with one of his own.

It’s overwhelming, and he’s bitten hell out of my lips when we eventually part.

Finn is panting, looking at me like he doesn’t know what to say.

That’s fine, because I do. “You kiss like a fucking piranha.”

He sort of laughs and pushes off from my body so there’s space between us again. It’s as if we finally realize how hard it’s raining when he sluices a hand over his face.

He’s so good looking, he takes my breath.

Like seriously fucking sexy standing there dripping wet, staring at me.

I tasted it in his mouth that he’s been drinking. Dutch courage for the big football star? That somehow makes my chest feel airy and I bite back a grin.

“What are you thinking?” I have to ask and he groans, swiping his face again, he turns around to the street but looks back at me. “Don’t be a pussy, Fierro, we don’t need to discuss our feelings.”

“I don’t want to do that either,” I retort. “Just wondering if you were thinking about devouring me again.”

He hisses and murmurs, “fuck,” it’s a satisfying sound. One I’ve heard him make only in my filthy fantasies.

I’m a sick motherfucker to even entertain having his mouth on me in my fantasies, I’m worse to want it in person.

Finn Maverick isn’t a nice person. He’s despicable most of the time—at least he is to me. And still the desire is making me dizzy.

“I need to go,” he gruffs.

“Wait.” Grabbing his arm, it’s noted by how we both jolt, feeling the static electricity going between us. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I can walk.”

“Don’t be an idiot. I can take you.”

He doesn’t say a word, following me to my parked car. I open the passenger side for him. “Get in, I won’t be a minute.”

It takes a few seconds to sprint up to the house. As quiet as I close the door, my dad is standing in the archway when I turn around. “You were out in this weather?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna get changed real quick and take a friend home.”

His eyebrow raises. “Where are they?”

“He’s outside in my car.” I start up the stairs, hoping to end this conversation before…

“A boy, Sage?” He smirks.

Here it comes.

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