Page 114 of Touch of Hate
A better idea stirs in the back of my mind when the elevator chimes, signaling we’ve reached our floor. She follows wordlessly—there’s no mistaking the energy crackling between us, though, certain of where the night will end. Unworthy adversary or not, I fought and nearly killed someone for her.
She’s still scared. I can feel it, smell it on her, but something else lingers beneath. The thrill. Her arousal is thick by the time I swipe the key card in the lock to our door. Yeah, she might be afraid, but she’s equally turned on.
“Take that off. All of it,” I mutter, bolting the door before crossing the suite. The fact that she doesn’t need to ask why or what I have in mind stirs a smile as I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower.
“We should really talk about what just happened.” Her tone irritates me, like a mother scolding her child.
“I thought I told you to take your clothes off?”
She stops in the doorway, shaking her head like the brat she can be. I ought to know. “We have to talk first.”
“What is there to talk about?” I meet her gaze in the mirror before peeling off my shirt. “Unless you wish I would’ve let that piece of shit take you from me.”
“That wouldn’t have happened, and you know it.” She crosses her arms over her chest—defensive body language if I ever saw it.
“You’re lucky I know it wouldn’t have happened, or I might not believe you.”
“Ren…” The scolding tone is gone, replaced with sadness or maybe concern. I’m not really sure. “You can’t go through life beating the shit out of everybody who looks at me in a way you don’t like. You’re going to get yourself hurt eventually, and for what?”
“It’s pretty simple.” I lather up my hands at the sink, now slightly aware of the stinging sensation in my knuckles but ignoring it. “Somebody looks at you or talks to you the wrong way. I make them regret it. No khaki-wearing asshole will talk that way to my angel and get away with it.”
She slumps a little, staring at the floor. “It’s not going to end well.”
“Let me worry about that.” I shake my hands off before turning to her. “One thing I won’t do is make excuses. I won’t explain myself, either.”
“I know that,” she whispers. I have to wonder, or else why did she start this? “I worry, that’s all. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”
“I can’t think of a better reason.” Nor can I think of anything I want to do more than strip her bare using my teeth. None of her scolding and worrying has so much as touched the blazing heat that leaves my cock stiff with yearning. Only she can extinguish the raging inferno.
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.” Pushing away from the sink, I begin unbuckling my belt. “Now, I believe I told you to take your clothes off. And I was serious about that, too.”
I give the open belt a tug, raising an eyebrow. “Would you like me to show you how serious?”
Damn if her eyes don’t sparkle in anticipation, even if she does remove her shoes before turning around and sweeping her hair over her shoulder. “Can I get some help?”
Can she? I’m of half a mind to shred the damn dress, that eager to touch her. I settle for lowering the zipper, then allowing the backs of my fingers to dance along the smooth line of her back, savoring the way she shivers.
She lets the dress fall as she turns while I finish stripping without taking my eyes off her. How could I when she’s a wet dream come to life? And mine, every inch of her, from the perky tits to the sweet, plump pussy she exposes upon removing her panties, and the slim legs I’m practically salivating to feel wrapped around my waist.
The shower’s running hot, the stall full of steam, which billows out once I open the door. She follows me inside without a word, as wrapped up in the moment as I am. I could lead her out the window, and she might follow under the spell of lust and the deep, undying connection we share.
Watching her step under the showerhead and tip her head back until water runs over her hair, I can’t help but remember the asshole whose face I rearranged. He could never have her this way. He isn’t remotely man enough. She could never belong to him.
The sight of the water running in rivers over her tits, hips, and ass leaves me stroking myself. “I could jerk off to the sight of you. You’re almost too perfect.” And all for me.
I’d rather touch her than myself, so I join her beneath the steamy spray and tip her head back until our mouths align. She blinks away water, smiling as her arms wind around my waist. “I love you.”
“And you are my entire world.” Cupping the back of her head in my hand, I brush my lips against hers—gently, teasingly—until she parts her lips and groans. So needy. So easy to excite.
So mine.
Only mine. No one is taking her from me. Ever.
“Ren…” Her whisper is soft, sweet, dripping desire just as surely as her pussy’s dripping in anticipation. “Touch me. Please.”
Not that I need the invitation.