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“You’re going to tell me that the feelings you have for me are sisterly? I’m calling bullshit.” He crowded her, walking her backward until her back hit a wall.
Fuck.
He lowered his head and water from his hair dripped onto her face. “Bull. Shit.”
The words smelled of whiskey and Grant, and smacked of challenge.
“What you want me to say? That I want you? I think I’ve made that pretty clear. The part I don’t want is the collar, and that’s apparently nonnegotiable as far as you’re concerned. I’d have no problem playing with you whenever the mood struck us, but you’re an immature little twat and I don’t trust you to share.”
“I don’t want an open relationship.”
“And I don’t want a relationship at all.”
“That doesn’t work for me.”
“What you’re offering doesn’t work for me.”
He exhaled in frustration, his breath caressing her cheek. Against this wall of the alley, very little light reached them. They were both soaked.
“Fine,” he said quietly.
The electric charge between them sent trails of goose bumps along her skin.
“Thank you for understanding, doorknob,” she whispered back. Unable to stop herself, she stood on tiptoe to graze her lips over his. His tongue flicked out and caught her bottom lip in a sensual swipe.
Evil man. She was barely holding it together, between being drunk and her arousal, and he was making her attempt to keep things platonic very, very difficult.
She sucked in a breath then swiped the rain out of her eyes. Her mascara had to be running down her face but she was glad that in this weather he probably couldn’t tell she was crying.
She hadn’t been lying when she’d said sleeping with him had ruined her life.
Her kiss had frozen him in place and his gaze had gone from angry back to voracious.
“Don’t kiss me unless you mean it, Arabella.” Suddenly, this entire situation seemed ridiculous. They were standing around in the pouring rain arguing about something they’d never sort out, as if they were in high school or maybe some dumb movie.
“Don’t kiss you unless I mean it?” She snorted. “What does that even mean? I don’t think I’ve ever kissed you accidentally.” He was glaring, which only made her giggle harder.
“You’re the most irritating woman I’ve ever met.”
“Big words from a man whose boner is digging into my stomach.”
“You’re drunk.”
“And yet I’m not wrong. Does arguing with me turn you on, Master Grant?”
He made a face at her as though she was delusional, and before she could tell her drunk brain to behave she reached between them and grabbed his hard cock through the damp denim of his jeans. He hissed in a breath.
“I may be a little drunk but I know what to do with this.” She squeezed his dick harder.
His mouth crashed down on hers, hard enough to bruise, mashing her lips against her teeth, but his ferocity matched her own. She moaned into his mouth, or he moaned into hers—either way their mouths and tongues tangled together and then she was fumbling for the button of his jeans, then fighting the zipper to free him.
Bad.
She shouldn’t be doing this, but the way her hand couldn’t wrap all the way around his cock had been something she’d been thinking of ever since the last time. Fuck, she wanted him. His piercing bumped against her palm, and she caressed it reverently.
“This is a bad idea,” he groaned against her mouth. His shudder of pleasure as she stroked his cock made it impossible for her to choose to stop.
“So tell me no. Oh wait, you’re a man.”
