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No movement.
“Stood next to me,” I gritted out. “Fit in with my friends. She’s smart, clever, resourceful, and she took the shitty hand life dealt her and still knows how to love people, unlike you.”
Her eyes blazed, a fire kindling behind them.
“She’s hot in the shower,” I taunted more, “on the beach, against the wall, on the hood of the car in the rain, and in my backseat—”
She growled, flying out of her chair and swiping a hand at the candlestick, sending it tumbling to the floor where it extinguished.
I couldn’t hold back my shit-eating smile.
Charging around the table, she made for the door, but I grabbed her and backed her into the wall.
But before I could rub in my escapades a little more or wrap my hand around her pretty little neck, she shoved me hard in the chest.
I stumbled and fell into the chair, and then she was on me—glaring down and squeezing my neck in her fist.
I gasped, fully fucking hard now.
She breathed fast and shallow, seething like she wanted to end me with her teeth.
Holy shit.
I groaned. God, straddle me, please.
She glowered, and I searched her eyes, waiting for her to lose control. To show that she grew up, wasn’t afraid, and was willing to admit she liked it and she might like it a lot if I bent her ass over this table right now, fucked her, and used her hair as leverage.
She didn’t. Growling again, she whipped around and stalked out of the room, and it only took two seconds to bolt after her.
I threw open the dining room doors, storming into the hallway, and spotted her, running away from me.
I raced for her.
She glanced behind her, saw me, and bolted, hurrying away, but I caught her.
I took her in my arms, hearing her squeal as I pressed my chest into her back. I forced her into the darkened doorway of the drawing room and reached around, taking her jaw in my hand.
She tried to wriggle out of my hold, but I didn’t give a shit if she drew blood or ripped out my throat. I was seeing this through.
I had questions. Like why didn’t she tell me what was happening at home? Or why couldn’t she trust me?
I was patient. I would’ve understood.
I wouldn’t have disappointed her.
But not only did she not trust me, she attacked, and I didn’t give a fuck about the why anymore. We all went through shit.
I leaned into her ear, ready to finish everything I was saying at the table and make her listen, because it was the least of what she owed me, but…
Panting and moaning hit my ears, a thud hitting the wall, and I darted my gaze through the cracked door into the drawing room. I saw Micah pressed into the bookshelves, Rory behind him and thrusting into him in the dark.
“God, fuck,” Rory gasped, fisting the back of Micah’s hair and biting his neck.
Em’s chest caved, and she collapsed back into me as I pressed my cheek to hers, both of us watching the scene ahead.
Hell, if they wanted privacy, they’d be in their room.
Both of them shirtless, Micah gripped the shelves in front of him, his black hair in his eyes as Rory gripped the curve of his leg where it met his thigh with one hand and his shoulder with the other, driving into him, their pants hanging around their asses.
