“Like what?” Somehow, we had reached an unspoken agreement to speak softer, cocooned in the privacy of this unfinished floor.
No doors on the frames.
No paint on the walls.
No furniture on the carpet.
No witnesses.
“You’re staring at me like you want to get fucked. It’s not happening.” He edged closer, and it was just enough to make contact. My chest pressed against hard abs. Despite my height, he towered over me. “In case you haven’t noticed, Jailbait, I don’t like you. I don’t even hate you. You are as insignificant as your teenybopper friends.”
“Hide behind your words, Nash. Use them to feel good about denying you want me, but this is happening.” I inched closer, a tiger tracking her next meal. “You look like you want to touch me, Nash. Do it,” I dared him. Let me ruin your reputation. “Take off that leash.”
Inside, I shook.
I hadn’t considered the consequences of an unleashed Nash. Ire darkened the moss-colored flecks in his eyes. Two storm-struck irises punctured my sanity. If he wanted, he could snap me in two and leave my body for the construction team to discard.
They wouldn’t say a thing because fear and power are conjoined twins—unable to travel without the other.
Nash didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
Didn’t breathe.
I needed to him to fuck me.
I needed to ruin him back.
My bags slipped from my fingers, and I jumped on him before he could respond.
He caught me. Probably on instinct. Two large palms gripped my waist. I wrapped my legs around his back before he could second guess this. I needed him out of my system. I needed to scratch this itch until it bled and bruised and scarred.
Until I had something inside me that matched the battle scars on his torso.
Nash could say I didn’t matter to him, that he hated me, or even that I wasn’t important enough to hate, but it didn’t change the pesky little fact that he wanted me.
His erection hit me through my clothes, proving my point.
Had he been hard this whole time?
I rubbed against it, my fingers digging into the hair at the nape of his neck as I panted against his lips.
“Fuck.” He pushed me down harder on him, grinding his cock between my thighs. “I can’t figure out what’s worse—that you’re twenty-fucking-two, that you’re my brother’s best friend, or that my mouth has never touched your pussy.”
I leaned forward for a kiss, but he pulled his head back, eyes hard.
He enunciated his words. “I. Don’t. Kiss.”
It occurred to me that he hadn’t kissed me that night in Reed’s room either. Suddenly, all I wanted from Nash was a kiss, but it couldn’t happen.
He towered over me like a villain. Scathing eyes. Midnight hair. Locked jaw.
I hated him for being right. Kissing him would be too intimate for what we were. I needed a dirty fuck. Filthy. Raw. Something I could remember ten years from now as I laid beside a man I loved.
My lips tingled with need, lusting to be traced by his tongue, but he never would.
Didn’t mean I had to take it lying down.
“You also said you won’t fuck me, but here we are.” I jutted my chin up, refusing to show him he had dug beneath my skin and affected me. “Our second time.”
“I’m not fucking you.” He palmed my ass, gripping it tight. His nails dug into it. “I’m about to ruin you. If you know what’s best for you, you’d take your vanilla ass to the elevator and go to work like a good girl. If you stay, you will never recover.”
“Ruin me, Nash. Do your best.”
I’ll ruin you back, and you won't see it coming.
I bit my lip until it bled, holding back a whine as he set me down. When I looked around, I realized he had walked us past a doorless threshold and into an unfinished suite. Construction materials bunched on a table in the corner, fresh low-pile carpet covered the floor, and unassembled cabinets laid stacked in the far corner.
Nash slipped his suit jacket off, tossed it onto the carpet, and slid off his belt. “In ten years, when you’re laying in bed next to your boring husband with the cookie-cutter day job, fingering yourself to the memory of how fucking hard I made you come, remember you begged for it.”
He stalked toward me with the long strap of leather between two tightened fists.
Nash was the sky moments before a storm.
Daunting.
Dark.
Beautiful.
I backed up until my butt hit the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind me, dozens of people lounged on the beach—laughing, reading, unaware. If they looked up a level, they’d see our dance, a princess and her dragon. The idea of getting caught left me soaking wet. I wanted to dance in Nash’s fire until I burned as hot as he did.
My fingers fumbled against the window, remembering the privacy coating still sat in the warehouse. “They can see us.”
He didn’t budge. “Nice view.”
“Nash.”
“Strip and hold out your arms… or we can leave.”
Heat pricked my cheeks. I kicked my shoes off. They flung across the room, clattering against the table of tools. My socks went next, followed by my sweats. I stood in front of Nash in my panties and t-shirt.
No bra.
Just false bravado and my selcouth shirt as my armor.
It wasn’t desire that led me to obey him. It was defiance. I refused to back down, refused to show him I feared the reaction he garnered from me. That this would be done, and I would still want him.
Nash cupped his erection through his pants, rubbing at it as he nodded at my panties. “Those, too.”
I slid them down my legs until all I had on was my shirt. The breeze felt cold against the lips of my sex. I crossed my legs but stopped when he tutted.
“You go first,” I managed. My voice sounded hoarse. Unused.
He laughed at me. Actually laughed. “You’re not in a position to bargain for what you want.”
He was right.
I had initiated this, and if I wanted it to continue, I needed to hand him control and suffer the consequences.
Why do you want this, Emery?
Morbid curiosity.
The type that kills.
I needed to confirm our connection the first time was a fluke. Then, I could move on with my life in peace.
Itch scratched.
Problem solved.
Nash undid his tie and loosened his collar. “Part your pussy lips and ask me if I like what I see.”
Jesus.
I knew immediately this was a bad idea. There was no purging Nash out of my system. I was an addict being given her next fix.
I did as he asked, my insides clenching as my nails brushed against my clit. “Do you like what you see?”
His eyes fixated on my slit. Taking his time, he approached me, reached a finger out, and traced the lettering on my shirt. “Selcouth. Do you think you are wondrous, Emery?”
I didn’t answer, but my hips jerked forward at his words. He knew what selcouth meant, and I didn’t think I could be more turned on.
“Or,” he continued, his fingers brushing my nipple over my shirt, “perhaps you think you’re rare.”
“I think no one is rare.” I shook my head, unable to focus on my response. He took turns teasing my nipples. “No one is special. Everyone just wants to be.”