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He staggers back, a look of surprise flashing over his face. “Fuck.”
“Yeah, that’s right. You got shitfaced and thought you could come here and fucking push me around? Fuck you, man.”
“You selfish son of a bitch.” He throws a punch, catching me on the jaw.
I punch him right back, sending him back a couple of steps, and somewhere at the bottom of my misery, a spark of glee comes to life. “That’s rich, coming from you.”
He wipes blood from his split lip. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“For fuck’s sake, stop pretending you don’t know.” I rub a hand over my aching face, too damn tired for this. “Go the fuck home, Ryan.”
I prepare to close the door in his arrogant, handsome face, annoyed at the sting in my heart, an organ that should by all rights be bulletproof or else shattered by now. I wonder how it’s still beating.
“Rid, wait.” He’s breathing hard, his gaze to the floor, his cheekbones flushed, his short blond hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
“What for?” I ask coolly. Bitterly. “Find someone else to bully, asshole.”
He laughs then, a sharp bark of laughter that doesn’t sound entirely sane, and that’s what stops me from closing the door all the way.
“You’re not the only one who’s called me an asshole today,” he says.
“Maybe you should take the hint.”
He grunts. Then he looks up, his eyes dark and furious and desperate. “Brylee is in love with you.”
…what?
I stagger back a step. “You’re bullshitting me. Get out.”
“I’m fucking serious.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Bry isn’t…”
In love.
Certainly not with me. With him, maybe. With him for sure, and if he doesn’t know it…
“Riddick.” He comes again at me, and this time I let him, dazed. Open my arms, because I’m fucking done with fighting tonight, done with pretending I can take any more.
Too much.
Let him beat me over a lie, because Brylee doesn’t love me. I’m not the one she really wants.
But the punch doesn’t come. He doesn’t hit me. He grabs my forearms and hauls me against his long, hard body, sending us both in a kind of spiral, heading into my apartment.
I find myself gripping his lean hips as much to steady him as myself as we spin like a planet out of orbit. We hit a wall, or rather he hits a wall, and I crash into him.
And then we’re kissing, aggressively, violently, more violently than the way we threw our punches or our words at each other a few moments ago. Teeth clacking together, tongues thrusting, we fuck each other’s mouth, hands tearing at clothes and groping body parts with punishing force.
I push his jacket off his shoulders, he rips my sweater and T-shirt off. I tear his shirt open, buttons pinging as they fly, and he yanks my sweats down. By the time I fasten my mouth on one of his small nipples, he has his hand on my cock, tugging hard.
It hurts so damn good. This is better than drugs, better than booze.
I bite on his nipple, and he hisses. I undo his belt and shove my hand down his pants, finding him rock hard and wet.
Releasing his nipple from my teeth, I straighten. Our cocks rub together, and I wrap a hand around the back of his head, finding his mouth again, sucking on his tongue as we rock together.
He unglues his mouth from mine, panting for breath. “Rid… I want…”
