Page 11 of Hostile Cravings
Now it was my turn to laugh. “I doubt that,” I said, running my fingers through my hair to untangle the knots.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I doubt you’ve ever come as hard as I could make you come, little viper.”
My inhale was louder than it should have been, and the way my panties grew soaked left me completely out of sorts. Shit, I was out of control and I didn’t like it. I hated Tyson, and I needed to remember that.
Standing, I tossed my hair over my shoulder, suddenly conscious of the fact that I had morning breath, messy hair, and my makeup was likely smudged.
“And I doubt you’ve ever had a woman make you come as hard as I could make you come, Raines,” I said, giving him a sly smile before walking past him and into the bathroom, making sure my ass was swaying in a perfect rhythm.
He snorted, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. His eyes were dark and for a moment, they held a flicker of desire that he covered quickly. “Get out of my bathroom.”
“I need to shower. Be a good husband and get my bags.”
I slammed the bathroom door, hearing his grumbled swearing and complaining. That was better. The aggression between us was a comfort I embraced. The other emotions were ones I didn’t understand and ones that completely unsettled me.
I made do with the bathroom products he had, wishing I’dtaken the time to take my face cleanser and expensive shampoo out of my bag. I used his razer to touch up my legs. If we were going to an island, I wanted to be smooth. I had my other parts waxed regularly, but there was something soothing about shaving my legs, so I’d never included them in my waxing routine.
Finding a spare towel in the small closet in the bathroom, I wrapped it around myself and stepped from the bathroom, intent on grabbing my lotion, face cream, and makeup from my bags. My contacts were so dry my eyes were uncomfortable, and I really needed to switch my pair out.
To my surprise, he’d brought my bags in. I’d expected to have to wander the house to find them and the move seemed like a sweet one…until I saw him leaning against the door, his arms crossed as his eyes perused my bare skin.
“It’s nothing more than you usually see, Tyson,” I said, searching through a case for some clothes.
He walked over to me and grabbed my shoulders, turning me to him. His eyes were soft, and he brushed a thumb across my nose and over my cheek. My heart thumped, remembering my makeup wasn’t on.
“You have freckles,” he murmured.
I tried to turn away, but he held my chin, forcing my eyes to his.
“I hate them,” I admitted, dropping my eyes. No one knew I had them or the birthmark on the edge of my cheek he hadn’t noticed. I covered them up with makeup, ensuring no one saw them. They were like a blemish I couldn’t get rid of.
“They’re cute,” he said in a sweet tone that made my heart leap in a way I didn’t like. “You should leave the makeup off.”
He let me go, running his hand through his hair before saying, “Get dressed. Our plane leaves in an hour and then we’re stuck with each other for a week.”
“Should be fun,” I said, covering up the vulnerable sensation that sat in my chest. The one that was reflected in hisfeatures. “A week of insults and jabs. Maybe you can come up with some new ones since you use bitch and cunt so frequently.”
That smirk returned and the way it slithered into my body and warmed it left me confused.
“I’m sure I can think of a few more.”
He walked away, leaving me alone, and I stared at the door, struggling with the emotions battling within me. I wanted to scream and throw something at the door. He drove me mad, and how I was suddenly reacting to him was driving me even crazier.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.The mantra repeated through my head as I dressed. Taking my makeup bag into the bathroom, I glanced in the mirror, taking in the freckles I hid, ones the boys had teased me relentlessly about when I was little. The same ones I’d traced the pattern of on my mother’s face when I was small, before she’d grown ill, before death had ripped her from us. I had loved her freckles, how her brown eyes had smiled when my tiny hands had traced patterns in them. But I’d never loved my own, especially after her death.
I looked away, pulling out my makeup and covering the signs of my vulnerability, of who I really was, preferring to be the spoiled brat Tyson thought I was. That everyone thought I was. I peeled my contacts out, replacing them, thankful he hadn’t noticed those. That was the last thing I needed, and I could only imagine the teasing names he’d relentlessly call me if he ever found the glasses I hid at the bottom of my bag for emergency.
Checking myself over and ensuring I looked suitably sexy and expensive, I sealed up my suitcase and wandered through the house, eventually finding my way back to the large living room that led to the kitchen. Tyson was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, an unhappy frown on his face. Casey was yapping about something while Mason eyed her, his eyes hungry.
“Didn’t you just have sex with her?” I asked him. Tyson’s glare fell on me, but I ignored it, checking my manicure instead.
“Eh, that was two hours ago,” Mason replied with a shrug. “I’m ready for more.”
“Must not have satisfied him,” I quipped, earning a nasty look from Casey.
“Just because you don’t know how to please a man with that skinny body of yours, don’t assume I don’t. He craves me because I’m like a drug he can’t get enough of,” she snapped right back.
Mason rose and pulled her into his arms, kissing her so hard she dropped the plate she was holding.
