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Wrong answer.
His lips press into a line, and he takes another step closer to me, keeping his grip on my hair while he moves his other hand to my jaw, forcing me to tilt my head up toward his.
“Get out,” he rasps.
For a second, I think he’s talking to me. That he’s actually trying to kick me out of my own fucking dorm. But then Elias clears his throat beside me.
“Gray—”
“I said out.” His gaze leaves mine for a brief second once again, hardening as it finds Declan. “Now.”
15
A heavy moment of silence fills the room.
Gray is still glaring at Declan, and Declan’s face has taken on a hard edge I’ve never seen before. For a second, I think they might start swinging, and I honestly can’t decide if I hope they do or don’t.
Then Elias steps between them, shooting me a look before grabbing Declan’s arm. His gaze flicks to Gray, and he nods once. “Yeah. Alright.” He jerks his chin at Declan. “Come on, man. Let’s go.”
The tattoos on Declan’s skin ripple as his muscles flex. His jaw clenches. He looks at me again, then shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it of something—temporary insanity, maybe. Some of the tension bleeds out of him, and his usual don’t give a fuck expression settles back over his face.
“Yeah. Sure.”
I can’t tell how much of his casualness is real and how much is an act. Or maybe it’s all real, and I just imagined the heat that flared between us a moment ago.
The two of them turn toward the door without another word, and Gray and I watch as it closes behind them.
As soon as it clicks shut, I turn back to the man in front of me, letting a sneer curl my lips. “What? You don’t like sharing your toys?”
The hand wrapped around my jaw slides down to my throat. His grip isn’t tight enough to cut off my air, but the feel of his calloused fingers on my skin makes my pulse ratchet up anyway.
“You’re not my fucking toy,” he growls. “You’re not my anything.”
I hate those words.
The same anger from earlier rises up inside me again like a dormant beast, and I bare my teeth at Gray like I’m daring him to do something he’ll regret.
“Then get the fuck out of my dorm,” I bite out. “Your friends are waiting.”
For a second, he just stares down at me, his blue-green irises dark and deep as the ocean. Then he palms the back of my head and kisses me.
It’s been months since I kissed this man in a dingy bar bathroom, but my body hasn’t forgotten.
The force of his lips, the demanding sweep of his tongue, the taste and smell and feel of him—every bit of it is familiar, and I respond before I can help myself, grabbing his shoulders as I kiss him back.
We might as well have gone back in fucking time. Everything about this is a mirror of what happened that night at The Silent Hour, including the deep, insatiable desire that flares to life low in my belly.
But this isn’t then.
I’m not just some lonely, haunted soul in a bar, and Gray is no longer just a stranger with a beautiful name.
I know this man now.
And I fucking hate him.
As Gray’s fingers tangle in my hair, I draw back from his kiss just enough to catch his bottom lip between my teeth. Then I bite down hard.
He curses and jerks back, raising a hand to his lip. His fingertips come away smeared with a drop of red, and he glances down at them before looking back at me.
