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“You know what, maybe you’re right. Maybe this is all part of my master plan.” The seriousness in his eyes sends a shiver straight down my spine. “Maybe I’ve been using you this whole time.”
“Maybe you have,” I seethe bitterly.
He’s purposely trying to rile me up and he’s succeeding.
“Don’t pretend like you haven’t enjoyed it.” His hand slides down my chest, grazing my right breast through the thin material of my tank top. An involuntary shudder runs through me. “That’s what I thought.” He leans in closer, and despite how irritated I feel, my resolve melts slightly.
Because he’s right. Even if this has been a relationship built out of convenience, even if he is using me, it doesn’t change the way my body responds to him. It doesn’t change how with one touch arousal washes over me. It doesn’t change the fact that even when I want to rear back and sock him a good one, I also want to jump on top of him and demand he give me what my body so desperately wants. Maybe I’ve been using him too.
Hate and anger have been the backbone of our chemistry. The first time he kissed me we were in the middle of an argument. The first time we slept together, we were fighting moments beforehand. Some of our most intense moments have come on the heels of some kind of disagreement. It’s what we do.
We fight. We have sex. And then all is right with the world. Rewind and repeat. That’s our cycle. And as much as I hate fighting with him, a part of me won’t deny how empowering it is to go toe to toe with a man like Mateo. And even though I doubt he’d ever admit it, I think he likes it when I challenge him because he’s used to people cowering beneath him.
But I won’t do that.
I’m not built that way.
“Stop.” I swat at his hand when it slides to my other breast.
“Your words say stop, but your body says keep going,” he muses, running his fingertips over my nipple that pebbles under his touch.
“I’m serious, Mateo.”
“Are you?” He stands, tugging me to my feet so abruptly that I nearly topple over. The comforter falls to the floor behind me, as his hand moves to the back of my neck, applying just enough pressure to keep my head in place. “Because I think you want me as badly as I want you.”
“Well you’re wrong.” The slight shake in my voice betrays me.
“I love how you try to stay mad at me but can’t.” He runs his nose along my jaw, inhaling my scent.
“You’re such a pompous asshole.” I push at his chest but he holds me tight, not allowing me to move even the slightest bit.
“And you’re the only person on the planet that can get away with calling me an asshole.” He’s teasing, but there’s an air of truthfulness to his words.
“Well in that case. Asshole. Asshole. Asshole!” I chant right in his face.
“God, woman. You and that mouth,” he growls, seconds before his lips crash down on mine.
I try to object for all of two seconds before my body melts into his and I kiss him back. I hate that he’s right. I hate that no matter how much my mind wants to reject his advances, my body acts on its own accord.
I’m like his own personal windup toy. He knows exactly how to get me to play right into his hands. Hands that are so skilled my entire body craves their touch in a way I’ve never craved anything before.
I tilt my head to the side, giving his lips access to my neck as he kisses down my jaw and across my throat, dragging his teeth gently across my skin.
I’m pulled from my lust induced fog when I hear a rumble so loud it shakes the entire house. Mateo pulls back and looks at me, both of us startled by the intensity.
“It’s getting really bad out...” My words are drowned out by another loud thundering noise that sounds like it’s right on top of us.
I watch Mateo’s gaze go from heated to concerned in seconds. In an instant, his entire expression shifts.
“What the...” I jump when there’s another rumble. “I don’t think that’s thunder.” I turn, pressing my knee onto the window seat as I look outside.
As if on cue, Dimitri bursts into the room, red faced and panting.
“They’re here,” he barely gets out through his labored breaths.
“Where?” Mateo slips into boss mode, straightening his shirt as he heads for the door.
“Just a few yards out, at the back of the property. And they aren’t fucking around. They’re throwing grenades or some kind of explosives, clearing their path. Jacobs is not responding. Neither is Jax or Dyson.”
