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I couldn’t form words—they were hard. He was too close. Instead, I licked my lips again and focused on pulling breath into my lungs. My hazel eyes were locked on his, making it impossible to miss the shift.
In an instant, I was off my feet and over his shoulder, upside down—fucking caveman-style.
“What the fuck?” I screeched, one second from becoming the cliché who pounded his back with my fists. The only reason I didn’t was because I didn’t like wasted effort, and it would, undoubtedly, be wasted. “Let me down.”
“Nope.” He adjusted my body like I weighed nothing at all. “Like I told that asshole, Lars: You’re mine. And Hawthornes keep what we take.”
I braced a hand against his butt and used it as leverage to straighten my back so my body made a right angle. I scanned the room. Jealous glares. Curled-lip sneers. Jealousy in all its various makes and models were aimed at me.
“People are staring,” I yelled at hisincrediblytoned and muscular ass. “Put me down.”
“No.” He grunted, true to the neanderthal he’d proven to be. Then he slapped my ass and kept walking. “We need to talk.”
When he finally set me on my feet, sliding me down the front of his body as he went, I was dizzy and just a little bit nauseous from the sudden movement. But I sure as shit felt every hard plane of his defined chest and everything else on the way down. Damn. I added turned on to dizzy and nauseous.
Once I finally caught my breath, I studied his pristine office. One dark wooden desk sat in the center of the room, with filing cabinets along the wall. The only chair in the space was behind the desk, and there wasn’t a single piece of paper or file out of place. Honestly, it seemed like we were standing in the middle of a model home or one of those offices in the commercials.
Everything was perfect.Tooperfect.
The lock clicked behind me. I turned to find Roman watching me, his gaze calculating as he drank me in, assessing, staring in a way that melted me. He moved in. “Stalked” was probably a better word, but it didn’t matter what I called it.
One second, I was getting ready to throttle him for touching me without permission. The next? Well, in the next second, his lips were pressed against mine, my back slammed against a wall, my feet barely touching the floor. Centrifugal force and his hands on my waist were holding me in place. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to.
I wrapped one hand in his shirt and the other in the back of his thick hair as he assaulted my senses. There wasn’t any other word for it. The way our bodies instinctively writhed against one another sent liquid heat traveling straight to my core. This was a man who kissed with his entire body and made me glad for it. Fuck. “Glad” was an understatement. I couldn’t get enough.
Breathlessly and all too quickly, he broke off the kiss, regarding me like I was going to run away and cower. Likely a reaction he got a lot, but I wasn’t big on cowering. Wasn’t big on running, either.
Instead, I leaned forward and yanked off my Mucks. “Take off your clothes.” I lifted the hoodie over my head, tossing it to the floor and staring at him, waiting for him to catch on.
He cocked an eyebrow and stared at me as I watched him, daring him with my eyes, attitude, with every weapon in my arsenal. Finally, he moved, came closer, and by the time I wiggled out of my leggings, he was there, slapping my hands out of the way and eyeing my body.
“My name is Roman Hawthorne,” he said as I stepped out of my bottoms. Then he watched as I took off my T-shirt. “And you’re Rylie Keller. Your roommate belongs to Colton Kinsley. I know who you are.”
If he thought I was Minnie Mouse, it wouldn’t stop me from wanting this. “Good.” I nodded. “Now we’re not complete strangers. Take. Off. Your. Pants.” I was horny from watching him beat the shit out of big bad Lars, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins made it hard to concentrate on anything else. It could all wait until later.
“I wanted to talk,” he said lamely, rubbing the back of his neck. “This isn’t the reason I carried you in here.”
“Look,” I snapped, equally ready to pounce or bite his head off if I didn’t get to have an orgasm soon. “Look, Roman Hawthorne, you can either take off your fucking pants, because watching you beat the shit out of that asshole, Lars, turned me on. Or I go back to my dorm room and wear out the batteries I’ve got left.” Then I eyed him, bit my lip—because I had great lips—then gave him a look that could’ve melted steel. “Something tells me that you can get the job done a hell of a lot better than my toys, though, but if you don’t want to…” I trailed off, letting my words hang in the air as I walked toward the pile of my clothes.
The challenge was risky. A power play since I wanted him to be the sure thing I’d assumed he would be. I glanced back as his ice-blue stare flared to life.
“Put your clothes on.” Like a cold shower, his words washed over me, decimating all the confidence I’d built up since moving to New York.
“Fine.” I snatched the leggings he’d picked up off the floor and held in one outstretched hand. I’d be damned if he was going to watch me pull the pants on. My skin burned. It had been stupid to put myself out there, stupider yet for telling him what I wanted before I was sure he wanted it, too.
Stripping had taken less than thirty seconds, but somehow, I pitched and stumbled, almost landed flat on my face twice while trying to shove my damn legs and ass back into my leggings. Getting my boots back on was a hell of a lot easier, though, since I wasn’t going to bother tying them until I was in an Uber on the way home. Within a minute, I was ready to go. After finding my cell on the floor, I wrangled my hoodie over my head, thankful for the warmth and protection it gave me from Roman, who was, unfortunately, standing behind me.
Before I could yank open the door, Roman moved to block my path, his piercing gaze demanding my attention. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“You told me to get dressed. I’m just following orders.” My eyes were wide, my brows almost touching my hairline. “I’m not an idiot.”
“Just because I’m not going to fuck you in my office”—He tilted his head and stared at me— “doesn’t mean I’m not going to fuck you. I just want to do it in a bed, where I can make you scream without worrying about anyone interrupting.” He held out a hand. “Let’s go, Rylie. Unless you want to go home and wear out those batteries.” His lip twitched. This bastard was trying not to smile. And failing.
For about three short seconds, I considered the wisdom of this decision. This guy had just kicked the ass of a man who could’ve crushed me between his fingers if he’d thought of it. And this one was a Hawthorne.Hawthornes keep what we claim.Because of course they did. And he was a stranger. I was about to take a stranger’s hand and fall into bed with him? Not in the least. In fact, on the scale of stupid things I’d done in my life, it would probably take the cake. And not one damned bit of it mattered because only one thing repeated in my mind, and it made my decision easier than it should have been.
I really didn’t want to use up the last of my batteries.
Rylie
