Chapter 19
Smash
WINONA
Isplashed cool water on my cheeks and forehead, then my neck, front and back. It helped a little, but in the mirror, I was still flushed; my lips pink and parted.
I already know you have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen.
That spot between my legs throbbed.
My hit list was getting long, and Mitchell was now at the very top.
Cher was number two, and not just because of tonight. She’d made me attracted to sexy, dangerous men. We talked about it that day in the boiler room, the day I met this one.
But I knew full well it wasn’t Cher burning me up right now. It was Mitchell.
And it was me.
I couldn’t believe I’d been the one to initiate all of that.
And how he’d immediately responded in kind.
My phone buzzed on the countertop.
Panic sluiced through me. I couldn’t take another message. I needed to say I’d made a mistake and block him. For real this time.
But there was the text from Ryan. A slice of normalcy. I quickly responded, setting up a call for tomorrow.
Remember what’s important to you, Winona. Family. The business. The life you’ve made for yourself.
Not this unpredictable maniac of a man. Right?
Right?
I shoved my phone in my pocket and reached for the bathroom door.
But I froze with my hand on the doorknob. What if Mitchell was waiting out there? I’d heard him speak when I left the room, though I had no idea what he’d said. I didn’t hear him follow me, and I’d listened at the door before turning on the tap. But he could be there.
It’s fine. I could still tell him it was all a mistake.
I’m almost positive they’d fit fucking perfectly. The only thing better—
“Lord Tunderin’” I whispered to myself in the mirror. “Enough is enough.”
I opened the door.
The hallway was dark and empty. I could hear laughter from the other room. But that was it. He hadn’t followed me.
My heart dropped, just the tiniest bit.
Embarrassment splashed through me at my disappointment.
I tried to shake it off. It was better this way.
I walked quickly down the hall, back toward the kitchen.
I’d just leave. Right now. I’d say I wasn’t feeling well and deal with the questions later.
But as I approached the kitchen, my footsteps slowed.
The back door was open. Not just a little, but a good half foot.
A shadow flickered outside in the darkness.
My stomach dropped. “Hello?”
Once again, laughter sounded from the other room.
I stepped toward the door, intending to reach out and close it. But as soon as I did, strong fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me out onto the back porch.
I shrieked, but the hand left my arm and clapped over my mouth. “Careful,” Mitchell said in my ear. He had to bend way down to reach. “They’ll hear you.”
I should have ripped his hand off me. I should have screamed. My lower half churned, but not with fear. Not even with anger. It was pure, high-voltage want. Want that slung heavy between my hips, sick and desperate and wrong. Want for Mitchell Harrington.
Mitchell dropped his hand, cupping it around the back of my neck as he straightened out.
I had to look up—so far up—to meet his face.
“I’m sorry for scaring you, Winona.”
I could smell him. That eucalyptus and cedar scent of those soaps I’d used when I was naked, in his house.
His thumb drew a curve behind my ear that made my knees weak. “Winona—”
“Stop,” I said.
He stopped. It was dark out here; he was just a shadow, even this close. He removed his hand, pressing it against the wall by my head. My eyes were adjusting now, and I saw his eyelids drop; his nostrils flare. He was trying to regain control of himself.
“I shouldn’t like anything about this,” I whispered. “About you.”
“Then you should tell me to walk away,” he husked, almost angry. “Or slap me. Something.”
“What would that do?”
His eyes opened, and now I could see the need in them. The almost unhinged desire. His sole focus was on me. And damn it all to hell, I liked it.
"Maybe nothing. You're all I think about, Winona. I can't eat. I can't sleep. You inhabit my every waking moment."
I swallowed, even as inwardly, I swooned. “There’s something wrong with you,” I whispered.
“You, Winona. You’re what’s wrong with me.”
And you’re what’s wrong with me.
“I should knock you out. I’ve done it before.”
“Do it. Please.”
I shook my head, my eyes brimming. “I can’t. Not when all I want is…” I swallowed once more. “Is for you to kiss me,” I whispered, unable to contain myself any longer.
For a moment, silence stretched out between us, the only sound the repeated collision of my heart against my bones. The fear that I’d made a terrible mistake. That this was some kind of sick game, one I’d just lost.
Then two thuds.
Two wine bottles rolled over the surface of the deck. Mitchell must have been holding them in his other hand. One of them hit the railing; the other disappeared over the edge of the stairs. It thumped down each step and then crashed onto the flagstones below in a shattering explosion.
Mitchell’s hands grasped my jaw, thumbs pressing into my cheeks.
“They’re going to hear that,” I whispered.
“I don’t care.” His voice came out in a growl. Then his mouth crashed down onto mine.
The moment our lips met, all I could think was I’m on fire.
Flames scorched my lips where his crushed mine.
They rolled from his tongue as it grazed mine.
When his flicked against my top lip, heat curled through my entire body, greedy to consume all of me.
I was fully alight as I took his lower lip into my mouth, my teeth sinking down of their own accord. Everything—everything—was on fire.
Let him turn me to ash.
But footfalls sounded through the open door.
“Mitchell,” I gasped, breaking the kiss.
He must have heard the desperation in his name, because he slipped his rock-hard forearms under my thighs, and swiftly carried me to the other side of the storage unit.
There was a narrow gap between the shed’s side and the railing, and he pressed me up against the wall there just as the door opened, light spilling onto the porch’s decking.
“The hell?”
Blake’s voice.
I froze, breathing hard.
Mitchell’s lips went to my ear, his tongue darting a hot stroke across my earlobe.
I had to bite my tongue hard not to cry out.
I could see, just over Mitchell’s shoulder, a sliver of his brother’s back as he bent over and picked up the bottle of wine.
“Eyes on me, Winona,” Mitchell growled in my ear. His voice sounded thunderous, but it was a whisper, only for me.
I couldn’t help it, I shuddered.
His teeth closed on my earlobe, making me do it again.
His mouth dropped down to my neck. “Fuck, Winona,” he whispered.
I couldn’t move. I didn’t dare. Blake was still there—at least his hand was, holding the bottle. Was he inspecting the label? Why didn’t he go back inside?
Why didn’t I?
Mitchell’s teeth sank onto my shoulder, making me see stars.
“Thanks for the wine, Mitchell,” Blake said. He didn’t look our way. He didn’t need to. He disappeared back inside, the door clicking shut.
Embarrassment ripped through me. “Fuck me.”
“Not yet, Firecracker.”
My underwear, already damp, grew soaked at that.
But Blake had known. Of course, he knew. Our texting was extremely unsubtle, as was the way I’d streaked from the room, Mitchell leaving right after.
Mortification dripped over me. “Not here.”
Mitchell ducked his head against my collar, breathing hard.
Once again, he was trying to regain control.
He’d stopped kissing me, but his hands still kneaded my backside.
I don’t think he knew he was doing it. It made me unable to think.
It made me keenly aware of how he’d soon feel the dampness of my core against his shirt, if he couldn’t already.
“Put me down, Mitchell.”
His hands finally stopped moving, his arms bending to gently lower me to my feet.
The slide down his body nearly killed me. I felt everything, including his long, thick erection as my most sensitive part dragged over it. And suddenly, I didn’t care about anything else.
“Winona—”
“Come home with me.” I blurted out the words before I knew what I was saying.
Mitchell was still.
I was instantly filled with shame. “I mean, if—”
But he dipped down, kissing me so intensely I couldn’t feel the ground beneath my feet.
Then he broke away, his hand on my throat, thumb brushing across my lower lip. “No.”
My stomach jerked. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, Winona. I’m not going to sleep with you because you’re riled up.”
Heat flared in my chest, and for the first time since we were inside, it wasn’t the turned-on kind. “You played a significant role in ‘riling me up’, b’y.”
“I’m aware.” I tried to skirt him, to get some space, but he gripped both my hips, flipping us around so his back was to the wall.
He’d given me an exit. Intentionally, I think.
Yet he still dragged me toward him, stopping me just millimeters from the thickness between his legs.
“Believe me when I say it has zero to do with not wanting you.” He ran his index finger along the waistband of my jeans, then dragged his knuckle up, lifting my sweater just slightly.
“So fucking soft,” he whispered, almost to himself.
I stifled the mewling sound my body wanted to let out at his touch, remembering he was rejecting me. “What if this is your only chance, Harrington?”
“It won’t be.”
“Awfully confident of you.”
“Okay. It might.” He released me, bringing a hand up to stroke his beard, then seeming to remember it was gone. He set a hand on his chest, then reached out and tucked a strand of hair back from my forehead.
I shouldn’t have let him, but I was weak.
“I want you to wake up after a night with me feeling… well, fuck. If not no regrets, then at least fewer than if you made a rash decision tonight.”
“Who says it’s rash?” I demanded, folding my arms. It was, of course.
Mitchell smirked. “So you’ve been thinking about me fucking you?”