Page 20 of Hostile Cravings
“Yeah, not testing that out, little viper. You keep those teeth to yourself.” He snatched my feet and sat again, taking a long drink of what looked like scotch. “Why are you wearing my shirt and why are you out of that bed?”
He leaned back, his hand still on my foot. I didn’t want to tell him I liked the way his shirt smelled, or that it reminded me of him. “You said my clothes were too slutty, and I figured you’d need the bed.”
He chuckled, dropping his glass to the table and tossing another potato into his mouth. “Your clothes are too revealing. You show too much skin.”
“Does that make you jealous, husband?”
With a sly grin, he replied, “Would watching me fuck another woman in that bed make you jealous, wife?”
Shit, would it ever, but I wasn’t about to admit that or to admit that my hatred for him was morphing into something I couldn’t define. A craving was growing, one that I considered hostile because it went against everything I felt for Tyson Raines.
His hand slid up my calf, causing a flutter of nerves to tingle through my body. I needed to get control, but his words and his touch had stripped me of it.
“I…” His fingers kneaded my flesh and warmth settled in my lower belly. My breathing constricted. “No,” I said, trying to reset myself, to remind myself that I hated this man. I tried to pull my leg from his hold, but he tightened his grasp on it, keeping the other secured. “I’d probably enjoy watching you fumble to make a woman come. You’re such a brute. I’m sure it would give me a good laugh.”
His lip twitched as if he was holding back a smile before he clenched his jaw to cover it. “You doubt my ability to make a woman come?”
I leaned forward. “Definitely.”
“I should be insulted but I know what kind of men you sleep with, and I know you’ve never had a man who can break you the way I could, baby.”
The hitch of my breath was too loud, and he released my legs, gently lowering my injured one. My eyes never left his when he stood. I sat back as he came closer, putting his hands on either side of my chair. The nearer his face came to mine, the more my body came alive.
“You don’t know what a real man can do. All those boys you’ve been with are clumsy frat boys compared to me.”
“And what are you?” I asked, resisting the urge to run my hand through his auburn curls.
“I’m a man who would ruin you for any other man.”
What was happening to me? To us? I could barely breathe. My body was so turned on that I swore there was a puddle in my seat. “Would you let another man touch me once you ruined me?” I wanted to kick myself for asking, for the desperate need for him to say no that was wringing my heart.
He stepped away, the air returning to my lungs with the absence of his closeness. Taking his seat again, he eyed me, and I noticed a heaviness in the air, the anticipation that hung there along with the knowledge that his answer could change our dynamic so that we were something more than the enemies we’d always been.
“Well, little viper,” he leaned forward, taking my legs in his hand, his fingers drifting over my skin so that it caused goosebumps to form while he placed my feet in his lap again, “you see, that’s the thing. I don’t hold on to women once I’ve ruined them. It’s not my thing, just like you don’t hold on to the men you let use you.”
I pursed my lips, irritated yet relieved that he’d returned to his usual demeanor, until he said, “But if I decided to keep you…” This time the air burned in my lungs when his eyes met mine, the hazel so dark they were almost brown. “…I’d kill any man who dared lay a finger on you, I’d burn through his territory like an inferno and lay waste to anything of his until there was no trace of the bastard left to remind you of that touch.”
A strange squeak slipped through my lips. All function to do anything but stare into his eyes disappeared as those words wrenched their way into my chest and carved his name into it.
He sat back again, throwing another potato into his mouth. “Now tell me why you cover those freckles up,” he said, as if he hadn’t just laid me to waste with his words. “And don’t tell me it’s because your fancy boys don’t like them.” He glanced over at me when I didn’t answer. “Are you shitting me?”
I tugged my feet away and rose, needing to get far away from him because I didn’t know how to grasp what I was experiencing or the way he seemed to turn the conversation so quickly, like he had a light switch that flicked between sexy lover to annoying ass.
“Why do you care?” I asked, intent on leaving the balcony.
He grabbed my wrist and tugged me back, causing me to land in his lap.
“What the fuck, Tyson?” I shouted, trying to pull my wrist from his hand but only moving further into his hold.
“Do you have any other words in your vocabulary besides fuck?” he asked. “With those glasses, you’d think you’d have more.”
“I have lots of words like asshole, shithead, bastard, jackass,” I replied, pushing at him until he released me.
“Still foul mouth words.”
“Like you’re any better,” I huffed, limping away from him. “You use the word fuck as often as you fuck women.”
“Says the bitch who can’t keep her legs closed.” His tone was harsh, but under it there was a sense of hurt and I wondered if I’dmade the wrong move. If by pulling me back to him, he’d been giving me an opening, one I’d returned with anger and my usual bite.
