Page 60 of Sliding into Love
"Or?" I prompt when they don't continue.
They cross the space between us in three strides, grabbing the front of my shirt. "Or are we going to stop pretending we came here to talk?"
Before I can respond, their mouth is on mine, and it's different from earlier. This kiss is harder, more aggressive, like they're trying to prove a point. Their teeth catch my bottom lip, and I groan.
"Royce—"
"Shut up," they say against my mouth. Their hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping against my skin hard enough to make me hiss. "You've been driving me crazy all day with your little games. Hiding my clothes, changing my passwords, looking at me like—" They break off, kissing me again, bruising.
"Like what?" I manage to gasp out.
"Like you want to devour me." Their hands are working on my belt now, movements rough and impatient. "Like you think you have any right to me after everything."
The words sting, but they're not wrong.
"I don't," I admit. "I don't have any right to you. But I want you anyway. I want you so badly it's killing me."
They pull back enough to look at me, their eyes blazing. "Good. Because I'm still angry with you, Kenneth. For high school, for Clark, for all of it. And I don't know if that anger is ever going to completely go away. You’re too fucking tempting to let it stop me now though."
"I know," I say quietly, ignoring the last part of their words. "I know, and I'm sorry. I'll spend however long it takes making it up to you."
"Damn right you will." They shove me backwards, and I stumble, catching myself against the wall. They follow, pressing their body against mine, one hand coming up to grip my jaw. "Starting right now."
The dominance in their voice, the way they're manhandling me, sends heat straight to my cock. "Royce?—"
"Bedroom," they command."Now."
I go, letting them push me down the hall, their hands never leaving my body. When we reach the bedroom, they shove me onto the bed, and I roll so I land on my back, looking up at them.
They stand there for a moment, silhouetted against the city lights, and there's a predatory glint in their expression. Like they're deciding exactly how they want to take me apart.
"Take off your shirt," they order.
I do, my hands shaking slightly as I unbutton and pull it off. Their eyes track the movement, dark and hungry.
"Pants too."
I hesitate for just a second—not because I don't want this, but because the intensity of their gaze is almost overwhelming. But then they raise an eyebrow, challenging, and I comply.
When I'm down to just my boxers, they finally move closer. But they don't touch me yet, just stand there looking down at me with an expression that's equal parts want and frustration.
"You think you can just kiss me and everything's forgiven?" they ask, their voice low. "That we can just skip past all the history and pretend it doesn't matter?"
"No," I say honestly. "I don't think that at all."
"Good." They climb onto the bed, straddling my hips, and the weight of them against me makes me groan. "Because I'm not going to make this easy for you, Kenneth. You want me? You're going to have to earn it."
They lean down, kissing me hard enough to bruise. Their hips roll against mine and I try to reach for them, to touch them, but they grab my wrists and pin them above my head.
"No," they say firmly. "You don't get to touch yet. Not until I say so."
The command in their voice makes my cock twitch. "Royce, please?—"
"Please what?" They bite down on my neck, hard enough to leave a mark. "Please fuck you? Please forgive you? Please pretend like you didn't stand by and watch while your best friend made my life hell?"
Each word is punctuated with a bite, a scratch, and I'm torn between arousal and genuine remorse. "I'm sorry," I gasp out. "God, Royce, I'm so sorry. I was a coward, and I was wrong, and I've regretted it every day since."
They pull back to look at me, and for a moment, their expression softens. But then that harder edge returns. "I know you are. But sorry doesn't change what happened. Sorry doesn't erase the damage."
