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“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rebel towers over me, his face a mask of rage.
“Trying to get someone to open the damn door.” I glower back at him and cross my arms. He grunts and goes to slam the door, but I shoot my foot out and block him. “I’m coming in.”
He doesn’t respond, turning on his heels and storming off into the house. I follow, and as I shut the door, I spy him disappearing up the stairs. I quickly scout the rest of the house, but it sounds as though everyone else is out. I head upstairs and pause outside the door to ‘my’ room. I miss being here. I miss how things were. A jolt of anger sparks in me. It’s not my fault that things are different. I didn’t change anything or do anything wrong. No, this horrible, awkward atmosphere is on Rebel and the other guys. Unfortunately, he’s the only one here right now, so he’s going to be on the receiving end of my wrath all on his own.
I stomp down the landing to his door, intending to confront him, and huffing in frustration when I find his bedroom door is locked. “How fucking petty,” I mutter under my breath. I could pick the lock, but I really can’t be bothered, and Rebel’s callous shitty attitude has got my back up. I back up a couple of steps and raise my foot, aiming for the weak spot just above the door handle. With one swift, powerful kick, my foot collides with Rebel’s door and swings open on its hinges with a crack and a bang.
“What the fuck?!” he screams at me as I step into his space. He’s sat cross legged on his enormous bed, strumming an acoustic guitar.
“What the fuck is your problem, Lennox?” I’m so mad at him; I can’t even use his name. It feels too personal, too close. I watch as he slams the guitar down onto its stand, the force causing a discordant twang to fill the air, making me wince.
“My problem?” His voice is low and dangerous as he slowly gets to his feet and stalks towards me. “My problem? You’re the one that’s come in here and kicked my fucking door down.”
“I didn’t kick the door down, I kicked it in. There’s a difference. If you notice, it’s still standing, just a little broken.” I’m being pedantic, but he just gets under my skin and riles me up so that I can’t help it.
“Semantics, Deighton.” Ooooh, he’s on last name only terms now too then. Good.
“What’s your problem, Lennox? Why have you ignored me and vanished all week? Why did you try to keep me out of the house and shut me out of your room?” As I rant at him my voice becomes weaker and I get more and more deflated until my last question is practically a whisper, “Why did you ruin everything?”
His nostrils flare but he doesn’t answer for a minute. Instead his warm cognac eyes skim my body and flicker alive. There’s a spark of interest but it’s gone as quickly as I spotted it.
“Go away, Deighton,” he tells me in a flat voice, turning away.
“Fuck you! Don’t you dare walk away from me! You owe me answers you prick!” I’m so enraged that I run and launch myself at him, landing on his back and reaching round to wrap my arms around his throat in a light chokehold. He easily flips me over his shoulder and cushions my landing down onto his bed. I stare up at him from my back for a second before scrambling to my feet again.
“Stop being a bitch,” he growls at me.
“If I’m a bitch to you, you need to ask yourself why. You don’t get to treat people like shit without an explanation at least.”
“Go home, Deighton.” Why won’t he budge on this? Why won’t he fight me? My frustration levels are rising, and I feel almost desperate. I’d do anything to get a rise out of him.
I flounce past him, out the door, and head for the stairs as I call over my shoulder, “Fine. Throw our friendship away like you couldn’t give a fuck, but you don’t get rid of me that easily. I’m going to be here all the time, and I’m going to fuck your best friends - plural - right next door until you snap.”
That did it. His anger starts low, a rumbling that makes its way up from the bottom of his diaphragm and morphs into a guttural growl that shakes me. From my position at the top of the stairs, I can see his face turning red. His shoulders are rigid, hands fisted. One more push and he’ll snap.
“I hope you enjoy listening as Thorn takes my ass. I’ll be sure to scream loud enough that you’ll know it’s happening.”
He roars - actually roars - and lunges for me. For someone so big, he sure can move quick! I clamber to get away from him and, a moment too late, I realise there’s nowhere to go. My eyes widen in panic as it registers that the only thing behind me is thin air and a drop down the stairs. Before I can react, or my training on how to fall safely kicks in, Rebel’s enormous fist shoots out and grabs my top, yanking me back against the safety of his chest, my feet once again on solid ground. His lips crush against mine with so much force that if he didn’t have a hold of me, it would’ve pushed me down the stairs again. He uses his purchase on me to keep me from escaping the bruising attack on my lips.
A moment later, my brain catches up with my treacherous body and I plant both hands in his chest. I shove hard. He staggers a little but doesn’t let go, turning me so that I’m no longer dangling on the edge of the top step. As he does, I seize my opportunity and elbow him as hard as I can in the stomach. He grunts and stops kissing me in surprise.
This time it’s his face that registers shock as he teeters on the edge. I don’t know if I want to step forward and save him or shove him. My choice is swiftly taken away from me as Rebel begins to tumble backwards down the stairs, hands still tangled in my shirt. Oh, Fu- I think before I’m cut off by the sensation of falling.
Rebel thinks fast, pulling me close and locking his arms in a protective cage around me. Together, we smash down every step, but no matter how we tumble and fall, Rebel always angles himself just right to take the brunt of the force and keep his weight off me.
I hear the sound of splintering wood and know we’ve just taken out several wooden risers to the balustrade. And then we’re kissing, in a way which is as violent as our fall. Rebel hits the floor with a painful thud, and I jar against his chest. I think he got the worse end of the deal. In the tumble our kiss broke apart so now we’re staring at one another, inches apart, panting hard.
I quickly jump off him and flee to the kitchen for a drink and a breather. As I’m downing a pint of cold water Rebel comes into the room and stares at me. I can’t tell if the tension between us is aggressive or sexual. Once again, he stalks towards me, and I don’t know what he’ll do when he gets to me. I contemplate...
Fuck it.
I throw the glass into the sink, not caring if it breaks, and make a run for it. Immediately, Rebel chases me, causing a sick thrill to course through my veins. I bolt out of the second kitchen doorway, skidding as I turn into the hallway and run back towards the stairs and front door. I jump over the broken risers and pause near the door. Out of the door? Or into the lounge? Back into the kitchen to run in circles all day long?
My hesitation costs me as Rebel jumps and tackles me to the floor, twisting me onto my back as we go down. And go down hard I do, like a sack of shit, smashing through the side console table. I groan in pain. And although Rebel doesn’t land on me, the force of my fall still steals all the air from my lungs. My head smacks back on the ground, and I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Shit baby, I’m sorry.” Rebel’s voice is panicked. He reaches out and gently runs his thumb over my split lip. This time it’s his tenderness that steals my breath away. I love that he called me baby. But then he ruins this soft moment between us by popping his thumb into his mouth and sucking the blood from it. He stares intently into my eyes the whole time. I know it’s supposed to be gross, and I really shouldn’t like it, but it’s insanely hot for some reason. I love it all. The fighting. The adrenaline from the fall. The kiss. Feeling Rebel’s enormous arousal press against me. Is it any wonder I’m a hot wet mess?
The kiss this time makes me whimper with painful pleasure. He nips and sucks at my split lip, and it’s like a hotline to my pussy. His kiss is cannibalistic, consuming, destroying. It steals my breath and my mind. His light stubble grazes along my jawline, his mouth nipping and biting the whole time. My skin comes alive with every pass of his mouth and my hands fist in his hair to guide him. I pull him against me, silently encouraging him to go harder. He grinds his hips against me, and suddenly it’s not enough. I’m on fire, and I need to feel him.
