Page 24 of Hostile Cravings
I made my way to the coffee bar that was set up just on the edge of the beach. Angie didn’t drink coffee. She didn’t like the bitter taste of it, so I ordered my own and a hot tea with almond milk for her, thinking it an odd thing to know about her. Only then realizing I knew a lot about her. Over the years, her small habits, her likes and dislikes had rooted into my consciousness. I didn’t know those things about her brother because I’d never paid attention during my visits, but I’d catalogued Angie’s, putting to memory all the tiny minutia that made up the woman I’d so vehemently despised. It seemed an odd thing to do with someone I hated.
After a brief walk, I returned to the room, finding the bed empty, the water running in the shower. Sitting on the balcony with my coffee, I waited for Angie to emerge, wishing she’d stayed in bed so I could have crawled back in and held her longer.
Fuck, Ty. What is wrong with you?
The water in the shower turned off but Angie didn’t emerge, taking her time getting ready, time standing on that ankle longer. If she kept walking on it, she’d damage it more and it would endup more than just a twist. It aggravated me how she insisted on pushing it. After what seemed forever, the door opened. By now my irritation with waiting for her had grown, my thoughts of her ankle, of not seeing her when I returned, of being angry at myself for wanting to see her were now a frustration that was brimming for release.
She walked out wearing a tiny blue bikini that barely covered her body. My jaw dropped like it did each time I saw her in one, but most times I could hide the reaction beneath my hatred for her. This time, I couldn’t, and my eyes perused each inch of her, the strain in my pants growing worse the more I looked. The desire to grab her and take her hard against the wall, to rip those delicate pieces of material from her body, roared through me.
“You look like you want to devour me,” she said. “I thought we were back to our animosity today.”
I finally drew my eyes from her body to her face. “We are.”
She’d fixed herself up, the glasses gone, her hair perfectly brushed to frame her face, the makeup back to conceal the things I loved about her. Loved? That was a strong word, one that pissed me off as much as the makeup and the tiny bikini.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked, rising from my seat.
“To the beach. I can rest my foot while I sit in the sun. I’m not spending the entire trip locked in this room with you.”
But damn, how I wanted to keep her locked in with me, to explore every part of her, to taste and touch. Running my hands through my hair, I tried to shut those thoughts up, to stop the craving that had become a hostile takeover to every other emotion I had for Angie.
“You’re not leaving this room in that.”
She laughed, throwing her head back and revealing her graceful neck. “You are not my father, and he lets me out of the house in this.”
“I don’t do the daddy kink, baby, so get back in that bathroom, wash that shit off your face, and cover your body up.”
She tipped her head, her eyes dark. “Your whores don’t call you daddy? With as bossy as you are, I would have thought they did.”
“I don’t touch whores, bitch.” I’d unintentionally walked closer to her, my anger surfacing with each step. “I don’t need to pay for sex.”
“No, I guess you don’t,” she said, throwing me off because I’d expected her to give me some witty remark. “Regardless, I’m not calling you daddy. It’s not my thing.”
The seductive way she said it destroyed me. I grabbed her hair, twisting my fingers into it and thrusting her against me. “And what is your thing?”
We were playing a game, one that was escalating quickly because we’d unleashed something last night, something we couldn’t put back.
Her breaths were coming out short and strained, each one gripping me with a force I couldn’t resist. “I don’t have a thing.”
I gave her hair a tug, her eyes lighting. “I think you do. You’ve just never had the right man show you what you like.”
Shit, I needed to stop because we were both playing with fire, and I wanted to burn.
“What are we doing, Tyson?” she asked, her brows furrowing.
“Shit, little viper, I think you know what we’re doing.”
There was a gorgeous flush to her cheeks that was fighting to show below her makeup. I wondered how wet she was, the thought killing me. Pushing her into the wall, I ran my hand down her body, the temptation to fuck her growing with every bit of warm skin I touched. I wanted her so badly that it was screaming through me, a primal need to take her, to claim her.
“You hate me,” she said, a desperateness to her voice. “Passionately.”
She was trying to stop this, fighting it just like I was. I searched her eyes, seeing that confusion in them again.
“I do. Despise is a better word for it.”
“Then walk away, Ty. Walk away now.”
But I didn’t want to. As much as I hated her, that craving for her was one I could no longer fight.
