Page 67 of Not Safe for Work

My momentary arousal morphs and sharpens, and now I’m angry. “It’s none of your business who I talk to, Rafe. There is no plane of existence where you have any say over me.”

He runs a hand through his hair in a clear sign of distress. “I know that. My father was pressuring me about the training program and—” He stops and looks at me. “It just made me a little crazy seeing that fuckwit touching you.”

My heart does a little flip at his words. “It’s also none of your damn business who touches me.”

“Tris, that guy is a dick. He’s only after one thing. To score with one of the few women attending this thing so he can say he did it.”

My reaction is the epitome of disbelief. Did he just imply that Andy was only interested in me for bragging rights? And why does that hurt so much?

“Fuck you, Rafe. Just because I don’t look like your supermodel ex-girlfriend doesn’t mean someone else can’t find me attractive.” I leap from my seat before he can say anything else.

Tears build behind my eyes. That asshole. I can’t believe I was starting to trust him. I storm through the bar and towards the hotel, marching underneath a stone awning lined with thick marble pillars.

“Tris,” Rafe shouts after me, and I pick up my pace. I will not let him see me cry. I will not let him hurt me anymore. “Please.” He runs up and catches my wrist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what did you mean, Rafe?” I whirl on him. “You thought you’d first go all possessive asshole, decide who can and can’t touch me, and then insult me to my face?”

He says nothing, just looks uncertain for a moment, so I turn and storm off again. Then he finds his voice.

“Wait,” he says, and I whirl on him one more time.

“What kills me is you came to me apologizing but then blamed it all on your father instead of taking accountability for your behavior. Just leave me alone.”

“Please,” he says, and it’s fused with so much emotion that it actually makes me stop. “I’m sorry. I keep saying everything wrong around you. What I said there, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant a guy like that will never appreciate how amazing you are. How smart and funny and bright. A guy like that only wants a notch on his bedpost. He’ll never understand you.”

The ground tilts. I sway and nearly lose my footing. Then I scoff because that’s a much better reaction.

“And you will appreciate those things?”

“Yes,” he says.

It’s only one syllable, but it’s stuffed full of so many things yet to be said.

He’s staring at me like he’s tumbling through freefall.

Every pithy response I wish I could come up with shrivels in my throat.

I’m not sure who moves first. A beat of silence drops before Rafe’s mouth crashes into mine. We kiss. We kiss like it’s our last moment on earth. Like at any second, this will be taken away.

I panic, then do the complete opposite of what I want and shove him, hands pressed flat against his chest. We tear apart and just stare at each other.

Rafe’s eyes have gone so dark, they’re deep black pits of glittering stars. That was a terrible idea. But I don’t care. He is beautiful and warm, his lips swollen, his hair mussed.

“Tris, I’m sor—” I don’t give him a chance to finish yet another apology because I am tired of sorrys, and right now, I regret nothing. I grab the fabric of his shirt and yank him down as our lips meet.

He grunts as his hands circle my waist, my back hitting cool marble. Ferocious palms and long fingers grip the backs of my thighs, and I’m lifted up, my legs trapping his waist. Our mouths part, hovering an inch away, eyes open wide as I plummet down the rabbit hole. One hand braces the side of my neck, his thumb running down the center of my throat as we sip on the forced exhales rushing in and out from our lungs.

Rafe’s hand slides down my rib cage and smooths against the curve of my ass. He squeezes as he again captures my mouth with his. A slick slide of tongues and teeth and lips is punctuated with a tilt of his hips and the arch of my back.

He’s hard enough to knock down buildings. I feel it infinitely in the soft, wet ache between my thighs. He moves, thrusting and grinding, followed by an agonized moan. My hands find his shoulders and his chest and his stomach, finally discovering their happy place in the nest of his thick hair. I grip it, tug it, pulling him to me harder. This isn’t enough.

Somehow, he understands because his tongue dives deeper until we drown. We are the burn of heat and fire and every conflicting emotion I’ve ever felt for this infuriating man.

A break on the rocks.

A star dropped from the sky.

This. Is. A. Reckoning.