Page 126 of Through the Flames
My pulse was still buzzing from the confession I had just made when we left the bathroom.
At that moment, the guy drenched in cologne and lacking common sense blocked our path.
“So,” he said, sliding up with a bourbon and a level of confidence it was almost cute. “What’s it like dating the next NFL star?”
I blink at him. “Wow, you practiced this line in front of the mirror, didn’t you?”
He laughed, apparently under the delusion I was flirting back.
Idiot.
Before I got the chance to torch his ego, heat scorched the length of my spine.
Hunter.
He moved in behind me, silently, so big and close I felt every hard line of his chest through my dress. A massive hand curved around my waist, slow and possessive, fingers pressing low like a warning.
Then his mouth dropped to my ear, and his voice was low enough to make my pussy clench. “Smile at him again,” he rasped, “and I’ll fuck you against this wall.”
My drink nearly slipped out of my hand. The idiot couldn’t get away fast enough, he basically evaporated like hesmelledthe murder vibes.Good call, buddy.
Hunter straightened just enough to look almost civilized again, but his hand stayed on my hip like a brand. I glanced up at him, and my brain short-circuited. His eyes were filled with pure darkness and threat.
Oh, fuck.
***
Once we left the party, we barely made it through the door before I decided to poke the bear.
“So,” I said sweetly, kicking off my heels and pretending I wasn’t still shaking from the little stunt at the party, “what did the scouts say? About Robot Boy?”
Hunter didn’t smile or speak; he just moved.
One second I was feeling smug, and the next my back hit the wall. His forearm was braced beside my head and his body was caging mine in, like the world had just become small and dangerous.
“They said,” he murmured gravelly, “I’m the most controlled player in the draft.”
He dragged his mouth over my jaw, slow and sinful, like he owned every inch of me. His breath was hot, his restraint a thin, snapping wire.
“Help me prove them wrong.”
Oh.
Hunter’s mouth crashed into mine like he’d been starving for years. All that control — the ironclad, legendary, unshakable discipline scouts couldn’t shut up about — detonated.
His hands gripped my hips so hard, I gasped into the kiss, nails digging into his neck.
One arm hooks under my thigh, lifting me like I weigh nothing. My dress rides up, and the cool press of the wall kisses the back of my thighs while every scorching inch of him brands the front.
“Hunter,” I gasped when his mouth left mine, his tongue dragging a fiery path down my throat. He bit my collarbone hard enough to make me gasp and licked over it like an apology that wasn’t one.
The hotel room smelled like him already, like cedar, sweat, and the faintest trace of his cologne. Dim city lights filtered through the curtains, painting us in silver and shadow.
His hands were everywhere, rough palms sliding down my sides, gripping my thighs, his fingers digging into my hips.
“You think you can wearthis,” his voice was a low growl as his fingers fisted in the silk, “and not pay for it?”
“Maybe I wanted to see if you’d break,” I shot back, breathless, nails scraping down his back as he walked me to the bed like I weighed nothing.
