Fuck. My. Life.
“I’ll release you if you promise to step away from the door.” Her mouth moved against mine.
I don’t think she realized just how close we were to kissing territory. How I could demolish her. Effortlessly, I flexed my shoulders, causing her arrows to drop to the floor with a yielding clink. My expression dead, I grabbed her waist, turned her around, and slammed her back against the door, getting in her face now.
“Better.” I brushed my lips down her nose, pausing half an inch from her mouth. “Much, much better.”
I grabbed her wrists, bunching them together and pinning them above her head. She winced at the full motion of her shoulder. I wanted to punch myself for forgetting, but honestly, I wasn’t even sure of my birthdate at the moment.
“Just so we’re clear, you may be my babysitter, but you don’t call the shots. You do not boss me around, you do not make stupid-ass decisions with your body. Finally, you do not fucking hunt me. I’m the hunter here, sweetheart. And you? The goddamn prey.”
Her eyes blazed with fire, her jaw locked. I wanted to step into her pupils and let them kill me. She was a war prisoner accepting her fate to die a hero, without betraying one national secret.
“Your name may be Hunter, but make no mistakes—you’ll never catch me.”
I smirked, trailing my index finger from her jaw down to her neck. She writhed against my body, the space between us shrinking, and not just because of me.
“Already did, aingeal dian. Want to know something else? I will domesticate you, too.”
“Let go of me.” Her lips thinned, her voice dancing with barely controlled temper. “I have to go. You heard Lana Alder. She wants my spot. I’m not going down without a fight.”
“You’re going all the way down to retirement if you fuck your shoulder up.”
“It’s not for you to decide.”
“The doctor decided.”
“You don’t understand!” She stomped, her cheeks pinking.
I figured there was a story behind her and the Alder chick, but now wasn’t the time to delve into it. Sailor’s breathing became labored. She balled her hands into fists and jerked around, trying to break free from my grasp.
“Sailor?”
“What?”
“Now,” I enunciated.
“Now what?” She bared her teeth, trying to kick me.
The need to tame her made my blood boil. I wanted to fight her to the ground and devour her, ending her and ending me.
Whoa. What?
“I’d like to cash in on that kiss now.”
“What?” Sailor’s eyes were the biggest, greenest, funkiest things I’d ever seen. “What are you talking about?”
She hadn’t forgotten the kiss. I knew because, in the rare times we were in the same room, I sometimes caught her staring at my lips and wondering. I wondered, too. We both wondered all the fucking time.
“You’re a terrible actress. Granted, probably still better than Lana Alder, but dreadful nonetheless.” I leaned into her. Our breaths mingled. Minty toothpaste from her, coffee and cinnamon gum from me.
“We…we can’t kiss.” Sailor squirmed, her tits accidentally brushing against my torso through our respective clothes. Her nipples were puckered. “We’re fighting!”
“All the better. Pissing you off is my only source of entertainment here in Boston, and this kiss is my out-of-jail card. My insurance.”
“Your monthly payment will go up if you use your insurance, you know.” She quirked one ginger eyebrow. “The next one will be harder to get.”
“Guess I’ll have to take my fucking chances.” I erased the two inches left between us, crashing my mouth on hers.
She gasped into our kiss, and I let go of her wrists, knowing damn well she wasn’t going anywhere.
Sailor let her arms dangle beside her body. I grabbed the side of her face, prying her lips open with my tongue, groaning in pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks, wrestling my tongue deeper into her mouth. I was met with no objection. Sailor’s body went limp, compliant. She was surprisingly submissive. The prey accepted its fate for now. She opened up for me like a flower—mouth, chest, legs spreading apart, blooming, begging for sunrays, meeting my tongue with hers stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust. She pulled at my lower lip with her teeth, hungry, and I ran my hands up and down her neck and face. She tasted sweet, restless.
She was so drunk on our kiss, I knew she was a second away from falling flat on her ass. I grabbed the backs of her thighs roughly, hoisting her legs up and wrapping them around my waist, pressing her against the door.
She moaned a soft protest at the same time her warm pussy met my raging cock through our clothes, grinding against me.
We kissed for ten minutes straight before Sailor realized she was grinding against my hard-on like an ambitious night-shift stripper paying her way through grad school. I could practically feel her pussy lips clutching my shaft through our clothes. She pulled away and buried her face in my neck, shaking like a leaf. Our hearts slammed against each other, and maybe it was because I hadn’t had any action in over a month, but the kiss made me black out a little. It was a euphoric kind of dizziness, like I’d just taken a benzo and was unsure whether it had kicked in or not. I wanted to kiss her again, but I didn’t want to overwhelm her. I usually got a good feel of what chicks wanted from me, but Sailor was impossible to read.
Knowing she could spend the next couple months with her face in my hoodie—Death by Mortification: Girl, 18, Dies in Hot Roommate’s Arms—I kissed her neck, the only part of her reachable from that angle.
“Junsu is going to kill me.” Her words melted into my hoodie, muffled by it. Was it just me, or were our heartbeats freakishly loud?
“Why? You banging the old sport?”
No comment.
Now that I was putting my three working brain cells to use, Sailor and her trainer were kind of tight. I would expect it from people who had Olympic ambitions together, and it wasn’t the first time she’d made it sound like he didn’t want her hanging out with dudes.
Sailor pushed me away, keeping her head down. She picked up her shit and flung herself back to her room, probably to check on the internet if she could get pregnant from dry-humping. I wondered what was wrong with me that I was obsessing over her goddamn shoulder when Da wanted to make confetti out of my skin, Cillian wanted to spread said confetti in the harbor, and Syllie possibly wanted to mince all of us into meatballs.
Not to mention, I still wasn’t taking any calls from Mom. Some subconscious, petty-as-fuck part of me wasn’t cool with her dumping my ass in random corners of the world, making me other people’s responsibility—especially knowing what I did about where I came from.
“I still need to talk to him in person,” she yelled from her room.
“I’ll come with you to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” I arranged my package in my sweatpants, fishing for my phone and checking it.
Four unanswered calls from Da.
Two from Cillian.
Six text messages.
Athair: I knew you couldn’t be trusted.
Athair: Where the hell are you?
Athair: If the answer is in a ditch after an orgy, just know I won’t be bailing you out this time around.