Chapter 1 #2
“Don’t.” He catches my wrist before I can drag my hand back. His eyes lock with mine, copper flecks flashing. “You can flip me all the shit you want, Hazel Spencer. But don’t ever lie to me, got it?”
My mouth feels parched like I’ve spent all day licking the soapstone counter in the butler’s pantry. Other parts of me aren’t dry at all. Not my hair dripping into the back of my green Chloe top. Not my clammy palm splayed on Luke’s chest.
Not the strange, throbbing heat at the V of my thighs.
Licking my lips, I decide to come clean. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ve had a really bad day and didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
“No.” So why do I keep talking? “This morning, I woke up and learned that a charity I’ve worked with for more than a decade lost fifty grand to an embezzler.
Then on my way to visit my father, I got a speeding ticket.
My visit with Dad didn’t go well, and right as I left the prison, I got a call that investors I’ve courted for months decided to work with a different developer.
On top of all that, all my family and friends keep getting married, which is lovely and joyful, but it all just reminds me I’m alone and haven’t had sex in forever.
Then you show up looking like sin on a stick and I—shit.
” I didn’t mean to say any of that. “Scratch that last part, please.”
“Nope.” Eyes sparking with mirth, Luke brushes stray hair off my face. “But here’s what we’re going to do.”
I open my mouth to retort that he has no right to make plans that involve me. To boss me around like he owns the place.
But the man talks over me, nudging me back toward the wall.
“You want me,” he says, touching my cheek and making me shiver. His fingertips tease toward my ear, tucking another damp tendril behind it. “Which is kinda handy, since I want you, too.”
I sputter as heat floods my face. “You’ve got some nerve! I don’t even know you. And what I do know, I don’t like.”
He laughs like I’ve said something funny. “The way you keep rubbing against me says otherwise.”
I look down and dammit—he’s right. I’ve somehow been grinding myself on the front of his jeans. How did that happen?
Flicking my eyes to his face, I try to retreat. To put distance between us so my skin will stop buzzing.
But the wall at my back stops me from moving away from him. So does the truth in his words.
You want me.
Swallowing hard, I summon the bravest words I’ve spoken in years. Since the day I called Dad’s attorney to deliver the news I knew would convict my own father.
Looking into Luke’s eyes, I square off my shoulders and swallow. “You’re proposing a rage fuck.”
I can’t believe I just said that.
Neither can Luke, from the shock on his face.
But he recovers fast, a smile blooming over his face.
“You can call it whatever you like, babe.” He presses against me, the rock-hard length of him making me whimper.
“You can also tell me to leave right now. Consent’s key, so if I’m reading this wrong, I’ll step back right now and just—”
I lunge for his mouth, sealing my lips against his. Luke pauses only an instant, then cups his hands under my butt. Hoisting me up, he presses me into the wall. My legs anaconda around his waist as I grind myself harder against him.
Wait, no, I need to stop this.
Dragging my mouth off his, I pull away gasping. “Don’t call me babe.”
Those blue eyes flash with coppery flames. “Anything else you don’t want me to do?”
Here’s my chance to stop this. “No.”
Then I’m on him again, thighs clenching around him as my hungry mouth fuses with his. He tastes fiery and sweet and forbidden. I can’t get enough of his tongue in my mouth, his hands raking roughly over my body.
This isn’t me, not any of this.
Not the light, breathy moans, not the fierce way I’m dragging my nails down his back. The whole thing’s a blur of flying clothes and heated growls. At one point, Luke breaks the kiss to ask if we should find a bed.
“No.” I snarl like a tiger with its tail in a trap. “Fuck me here, now. Please.” I add that last word as an afterthought, not wanting to be rude.
Luke doesn’t seem concerned about my manners. He’s peeling me out of my black Amiri jeans, then pulling a condom from his wallet. When he takes his time tearing it open, I snatch it impatiently and rip at the wrapper with my teeth.
Maybe that’s when it happened.
I was crazed, so consumed by heatwaves of lust and long-simmering rage. My incisors or manicured nails must’ve poked through the latex.
Or maybe I rode him so hard that I pierced that frail prophylactic with the force of my anger-fueled coochie.
That’s the only reason I can come up with for why I’m sitting here now at my dressing table, holding a stick with two little lines on it.
Two little lines set to change my whole life.
Dropping the stick in the trash can, I move to the sink and wash up with Le Labo hand soap. After drying my hands on a thick Teema towel, I pick up my phone and text one, simple word.
Help.