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I scowl back, because what the fuck does he think I’m supposed to do? Move into a bigger place to make his highness and his high standards happy? Fuck him.
He drags his hand through his hair for the third time in a few minutes.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
He stares at me.
“What?”
I wiggle my fingers at him. “You’re all twitchy.”
Now he’s rubbing his palm over his face. He turns toward me and shakes his fingers out like he’s about to get into a fight.
“I’m just… I need to try something,” he says.
“If I were you I’d start with being less weird,” I suggest dryly.
His shoulders slump on a frustrated gush of air he pushes out through his teeth.
His eyes bore into mine like he’s searching for something.
He looks pissed.
I don’t even register the movement, but he’s suddenly in front of me, and my back hits the door. I stumble and the door bangs against the wall. It makes an ominous sound when I slam into it.
I’m trapped between the door and Ryker’s large body, pressed up against me. Wide chest and wide shoulders and muscles made of stone.
His mouth comes down hard on mine.
Like he’s punishing me for something.
For a moment, he doesn’t really move. He’s just there. Locked to me via his lips.
His chest falls and rises rapidly against mine.
It’d be easier if that was it.
If he didn’t shove his fingers into my hair.
If his thumbs didn’t slide over the sensitive skin at the back of my neck.
If he didn’t tilt my head back.
If he didn’t really kiss me.
He does, though. All of it. All of the above.
He draws in a harsh breath and somehow seems to barrel into me, even though we’re already glued together from our toes to our mouths. His knee is somewhere between mine. His forehead bumps into mine every now and then.
My fingers twist in his shirt, and I pull him even closer. His answer is to thrust his tongue into my mouth.
He tastes like peppermint and confusion and smells like aftershave, and I don’t know what to do with that, so I just kiss him back. Give as good as I get. If this turns out to be some moment of insanity for him, I’m going to make damn sure it’ll be memorable. I’ll make damn sure it haunts him.
His hands move from my hair to my neck, one large, warm palm on either side. His lips are still moving over mine.
My breathing turns erratic enough that I have to turn my head to the side to catch my breath. His forehead slides from my forehead to my temple. He pants, and puffs of air hit my cheek.
“Fuck,” he says in a low voice. “Fuck,” he repeats more empathically.
