It’s bruising, hungry, an invasion of my mouth. None of the gentleness with which he’s always kissed in the past. His lips lever mine open, his tongue forces its way in, and his hands hold me still. I must’ve shifted a foot, because my shoe snags on the coat. I have a hand against his chest; it’s achieving nothing. My eyes are open in surprise, but his are closed. He’s tasting me, sensing me.
And all I can think of is his mouth on mine.
My fingers curl into his shirt. My other hand has found his lapel. I don't remember reaching for it. My heart is hammering, my nipples tight against my dress, heat gathering where it has no business gathering.
I really hate my body sometimes.
I try to turn my head, and it’s enough. He breaks the kiss, drawing back but not releasing me.
“Alex…” I begin, not sure what I can even say.
“Come with me.” It’s not a request. He takes my hand, steps back, then leads me through his apartment. We’ve made a half-dozen steps before I begin to get my wits together.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer, and we arrive a moment later. He pushes a door open, taking me intohis bedroom.
Hisbedroom?
It’s been so long, I couldn’t even remember which room it was. This one, apparently. A large bed against the wall with a wrought iron headboard. It's moody, dim lighting, the carpet a grey ash, the blinds electric, slatted, and half-lowered.
“Alex, no…”
“Take off your dress.”
“Okay, ‘no’ just became ‘fuck no.’” That might have been the wrong choice of expletive.
“I won’t ask again.”
“Well, I’m happy to keep saying no.”
He’s on me before I can retreat, because he’s not disadvantaged by high heels. His hands grip my shoulders, turning me, then one hand wraps around my throat. I’m held against his chest, but his other hand’s between us, at my back.
“Alex—” It’s an effort to speak.
He ignores me, finding the zipper and wrenching it down hard and fast. Something tears. The zipper jams. His fingers hook inside, brushing against my skin, and he yanks. The material pulls tight, then rips. The tension leaves it.
The front gapes open, the sides are limp, the bodice, built-in cups—it’s all ruined.
“For fuck’s sake—”
“I warned you,” he says, mouth near my ear, voice low. I’ve never heard that tone from him before, and it pulls at me.
He’s not finished with my dress. He shoves it down with his free hand, keeping mepinned. If he wasn’t holding me, the force of it would have me over. He’s so much stronger than I am.
“Goddammit.Stopalready.”
The dress falls to my waist, bunches, catches, then he forces it over one hip. And the other. I’m naked to the waist, until gravity takes over and it falls, leaving me in nothing but my heels and a thong.
“This isn’t funny, Alex.” I’m getting angry. No, I’m already angry. I’m pinned, my feet are caught again, and I’m really hating my heels right now. Almost as much as I’m hating him. “Get off of—”
His hand slaps hard into my right butt cheek, the shock more surprising than the pain. But that comes, a moment later. “Be quiet,” he growls.
“Alex, I’m not—”
His hand around my throat squeezes, cutting off my air, and his palm lands again. Right on the damn spot. I gasp out a cry, but it’s muffled. “Be.Quiet.”
He’s not playing, he’s serious. This is a side of him I’ve never seen before. Never even suspected it existed.
