“I smelled the bacon on your breath.” He stepped forward, his eyes ablaze with malice.
She backed up. “I stole a piece off Cole’s plate when he wasn’t looking.”
In a blur, he dumped the rest of the water on her head. As she sputtered beneath the deluge, he gripped her tank-top and ripped the straps, the neckline, and the material straight down the front.
It fell to the ground in tatters, leaving her braless breasts exposed. She didn’t bother covering herself in some pretense of being a shy virgin. They both knew she was anything but.
He watched the water run over her bare chest the same way she’d watched him. The appreciative gleam in his hooded eyes hardened her nipples and boiled her blood.
“You insult my age then ogle my tits?” She grabbed the shovel she’d left against the Jeep. “What kind of bastard are you?”
“A hungry one.” He licked his lips, his voice smooth, deep, dangerously masculine. “Remove your jeans.”
“Like hell I will.” She raised the shovel with both hands.
“Make me hurt you, Rylee.” He wrapped his mouth around the words, enunciating slowly. “Beg me.”
She swung.
He seized the weapon with a vicious jerk, yanked it from her grip, and flung it out of reach. She slapped his face. Or tried. A fist caught her hair, whirling her off balance. She swung at him again, and he snared her wrist.
“You can’t keep your greedy eyes off me.” He forced her backward and sideways, crushing her between his body and the Jeep, his breaths coming so hard and angry against hers. “Because you like what you see.”
“You have nice hair. Healthy bones. But your personality needs work. Far more than I’m willing to invest.”
“Liar. You want me so badly it scares you.” He leaned his weight against her, letting her feel the hard, impossibly thick, rigid length of him. “You like it rough and crave an aggressive, heartless man who will smack you around and fuck you like you just kicked his dog.”
“You make me sick.”
“You lied to me about breakfast, and you’re lying now.” He wrapped a hand around her throat. “But you’re going to make it up to me by taking every inch of my cock.”
She couldn’t help it. She laughed, a loud, coarse, mocking guffaw that was cut off by his mouth as it slammed down over hers. He kissed her so cruelly and with such sublime devastation of heart and body that it only made her more furious, spurring her to kiss him back with equal venom.
He made a guttural sound deep in his chest as he assaulted her mouth, the thrusts of his tongue lashing against hers, punishing, seducing, making her need him and fear him until the past and present twisted together, doubts and certainty tangling so messily that one couldn’t be distinguished from the other.
She arched into him, and he gave her his powerful body, fucking her with his tongue, squeezing her breasts, choking her throat, and smothering her with the fury of their toxic need.
His kiss was born of darkness, in the horrors of an attic, where pleasure could be plucked from hell if one were demented enough to reach for it. And reach for it, she did, with her lips, her hands, her entire body rising to him. He grabbed her hips, trapping her against the Jeep, and devoured her mouth as if he were trying to suck the life from her soul.
He captured her breaths, swallowed her whimpers, and plunged her into a madness of lust and helplessness. His body was a weapon of enticement, his tongue the trigger. He held her hostage with his mouth, his dominance, and she only wanted to give more, more, more until nothing remained.
When he let her breathe at last, his grip still firm above her collarbones, she could do no better than stare.
He stared back, panting, seemingly dazed.
Christ, he was irresistible. Sexy as fuck. Gorgeous beyond human nature.
And mean as a snake.
She hated him. But she loved the feel of his assertive hands, the taste of his cruel lips, and the dark, deadly passion in his labored breaths. She wanted him to touch her. Her breasts ached for it. But she was scared.
Scared he was toying with her.
Scared he would reject her.
Terrified he wouldn’t.
“You wrote in your emails that you can’t have sex without inflicting pain. Yet you fight for a cause that saves women.” She touched his hand at her throat, pulling on his immovable fingers. “I don’t know what this is, if it’s just two angry people lashing out at each other and using sex as an outlet, but I don’t want any part of it. I won’t willingly let you abuse me. If beating women gets you off—”
“Beating women?” He slammed a fist against the Jeep beside her head, making her jump. “Touch me, Rylee. Right now.” His face twisted in rage, contorting the masterful planes of beauty as he roared, “Put your fucking hands on me!”
His thundering voice rang in her ears and shook her from head to toe. She swallowed, confused by the demand, and lowered her hands to his jeans.
He tensed as she touched the swollen outline of him beneath the zipper. Her fingers trembled as she followed the impressive bulge, down, down, down, still going…
Holy mother of God, what she’d felt last night hadn’t been her imagination. He was enormous, thick, and so fucking long. Like porn-star long.
“Tommy?” Startled, she removed her touch.
Flattening his palms on the Jeep behind her, his arms supported his assertive lean and caged her in. He scrutinized her face, glaring, invading her space, and stealing her air with blatant intimidation.
“Pull me out.” A deep, insistent command. Taunting.
This wasn’t foreplay or seduction. He was being mean. But there was something else going on. Something straining beneath the antagonism.
Interest? Desire? He was hard as a rock, so yeah, he wanted to fuck, and she was the only female within a hundred miles. But he would never rape her. She’d miscalculated some things about him, but she was certain he would need a damn good reason to force a woman.
And that was what she’d detected beneath his growly, imperious command.
Uncertainty.
Vulnerability.
Was he anxious about her seeing him in the flesh and casting judgment? There was only one way to find out.
Her heart galloped as she unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper. His breath hitched as she bent, wrestling the snug denim and briefs down his brawny thighs.
He didn’t spring free or jut upward. His erection was too heavy, too inconceivably massive to do anything but hang. God help her, he was hung. In his fully aroused, undeniably hard state, he was easily ten inches.
Disbelief compelled her hands. She touched without hesitation, drawing a gasp from his lips. The skin was warm, circumcised, and oh-so silky beneath her trembling fingers, the engorged muscle beneath like bedrock. The hair at the base was dark brown and neatly trimmed, his huge, full testicles completely shaved.
He was beautifully formed, and at the same time, monstrous. A woman’s body wasn’t designed to take an invasion of this size. Not without horrible stretching and…
Pain.
He couldn’t have sex without hurting women.
Realization sank into her stomach, stabbing her with guilt and dread.
“Now you know.” He curled his fingers around hers, holding her grip to his shaft. “You invaded my privacy, read the personal journals of my life, and jumped to assumptions about my conduct with women.” His hand tightened, crushing the bones in hers. “Your narrow-minded, judgmental idiocy led you into a sick, twisted fantasy world, where I star as some abusive, raging beast.”