“You know that’s bullshit,” he rumbled, his voice like a skein of silk unraveling over gravel.
“I don’t.”
“You do. I get that you’re hands off, Rachel, and I play by your limits, but we both know the truth—I’m the only one who gets to touch you.”
Fire flickered to life in my core. The sharp burn was enough to make me gasp, and I wanted to kick myself for that intense, visceral, and obvious response. Especially when his mouth kicked up in a grin.
I clenched my hands into fists, letting them settle at my sides because a part of me wanted to punch him, and the other part wanted to haul him into me.
He knew too.
Arrogant goddamn asshole.
When he smoothed his hair, straightening the tousled locks into some semblance of order, I peered at him out of the corner of my eye.
I loved when he looked neat.
He knew that as well.
A part of me wanted to ask him to shave, but I knew he wouldn’t.
A fade and a shave and I’d probably let him touch me more often.
“Rach?”
I heard the amusement in his voice.
Shit.
He knew what was wrong with me.
He’d also moved.
I could have told him to fuck off, could have dissed him like I’d done with Link earlier, but instead, I was weak.
Fucking weak.
His hand edged and curved around my hip, and as his fingers slipped into the pocket on my navy pencil skirt, the weight dragged the fabric down. The heat was electric.
“Church must have been real bad if you’re here for that,” he drawled.
I crinkled my nose. “I’m not here for anything.”
“I call BS.”
“I’m not gonna hit you up for a booty call beside your dad’s hospital bed,” I grouched.
“Ohh, now I know you’re riled. ‘Gonna?’ What’s happened to those elocution lessons?” he mocked.
My temper faded when I saw the light in his eyes.
A light I’d brought to the darkness of this hospital room.
Sometimes, when I looked at him, I knew what we could have. Sometimes, that was too much, and sometimes, it was a relief.
It came as a surprise when his hand drifted to my hair, the fingers tangling with the ponytail as he tipped my head back and joined our mouths together.
He swallowed my soft exhalation and just sank into me.
It was a stunningly tender moment, but the way his hand held me fast, my hair tugging at the roots if I tried to move my head, had my heart pounding harder than the situation necessitated.
Most days, I was okay. Some days, I wasn’t.
Rex was the only one I trusted to handle my broken soul, but even that trust didn’t always register.
When he nipped at my bottom lip, mine parted. As his tongue thrust into my mouth, I slowly started to kiss him back.
Hand curling around my hair some more, he stunned me by demanding, “Do you want him like you want me?”
For a second, I stared up at him with dazed eyes, then his words registered. “Fuck you, Rex.”
A cocky smirk graced his lips and his other hand came to band around my waist. I released a shocked breath because the move imprisoned me against him. I felt his erection, registered its presence, and had to tell myself that it was his.
No one else’s.
“I’ll fuck you if you ask nicely.”
I saw red at that.
“You’re a jackass. Kian came onto me,” I snapped then, aware that the other guy could probably see us through the window, continued, “What is this? You pissing on me? Marking your territory?”
“Golden showers aren’t my thing.” A bitter anger unfurled across his expression. “Did he tell you that you could talk with him about anything? About your grief—”
“He did actually,” I countered, and then, because I wanted him to shut the fuck up, I pushed against his chest and against his hold.
He’d prepared for that because his arm tightened around me, but I expected his predictability and pushed into him, leaning up onto tiptoe so I could snag a hold of his bottom lip with my teeth.
“You’re not the only one who gets to stake a claim,” I rumbled angrily as I jerked back.
The raging heat in his gaze would have burned another woman—but I wasn’t another woman.
I was his.
He grabbed my arm and jerked me forward, not stopping until he was hauling me out of the room.
I should have been furious.
Outraged.
News flash: I wasn’t.
A soft laugh escaped me.
Relief coated it, but there was also need.
So much need.
It was a wild burst of energy, almost adrenaline-like in its toxicity, that made me feel fucking alive.
That took me away from these moments where, for however long we were together, I could escape what was happening.
Bear’s future, the shitstorm that was heading for the MC, whatever health issues I had, and this strange impasse between Rex and me.
Giddiness hit me as we stripped out of the protective gear then strode out of the room, followed by the ward itself.
Kian’s brows were arched, and I knew he’d been watching us.
Sly bastard.
I ignored him, but Rex didn’t—his hold on my arm tightened, and he spat at Kian, “Keep your hands to yourself or I’ll let the administration know you approach visitors for hook-ups.”
That need was back.
Crawling through me.
It was crazy—insane.
Wonderful.
I’d already told the nurse that, in this town, my word meant more than his, but now, I just felt like I was the Queen of West Orange with its king at my side.
Cockily, I smirked at Kian then, as we left the ICU, told Rex, “I’ll give you a free pass for being a possessive asshole just this once.”
He arched a brow at me. “Just this once? I don’t think so.”
Before I could utter another word, fifty or so feet from the entrance, there was a small side door. He glanced around the hall, quickly tried the handle to see if it would open and, when it did, he clicked his tongue in satisfaction.
As he drew me into the storage closet, that satisfied noise sent fire through my veins—I recognized it too well.
Craving him, all of him, I shoved him against the wall. Between a mop bucket and a cabinet of only fuck knew what, I pressed my mouth to his.
Escape—that’s what this was.
A chance to escape the here and now, but more importantly, what was coming for us.
The second our lips collided, the welter of relief that flooded me was overwhelming.
It was like taking a Valium without wanting to nap.
The anxiety, my stress, the fear—it all faded.
My world was right when we were like this.
It was after that shit went to shit.
But that wasn’t now.
I explored his mouth, his tongue caressing mine as we savored the taste of each other.
My fingers dove into his hair, but I didn’t tug at the strands. I stroked them, calming the tangle but using the grip to tilt his head this way and that.
His hands went to my hips and he drew me into him, grinding his dick into my stomach.
The immediacy of his response sent another tsunami of relief through me, and I groaned at his hardness, needing that in me.
Now.
Memories of him being a jackass faded as I drew my skirt up, dragging it higher along my thighs.