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There’s a dangerous undertone in his voice, a jagged sharpness that pricks at my nerve endings and makes my heart race. The scent of leather and ginger surrounds me, intoxicating my senses. My skin feels hot as he leers at the outline of my breasts, the wet shirt plastered to my chest thanks to a full canteen of water.
Devlin looks to my trapped wrist with a predator’s precision. “You want to get in my pants?”
Heat throbs between my thighs and embarrassment spears through me.
What the hell?
I shift slightly and Devlin’s grip tightens on my wrist.
“If you wanted in my pants so badly, all you had to do was ask.”
He crowds me, shoving my body back against t
he chilly tiled wall. It bites through my shirt, seeping into my skin, juxtaposed by the heat that rolls off him when he steps into me. My heart pounds in time with the throb in my clit.
I bring my other hand up to push him off me, but as soon as my palm lands on him I freeze.
Devlin’s chest is hard, muscled, and…warm.
He slaps a palm next to my head, making me stifle a startled jump. His eyes slit, keeping me pinned in place with his body and his piercing gaze.
“I’ll make you earn your nickname for real, sticky fingers,” Devlin murmurs in a rough undertone. He releases my trapped wrist in favor of touching my waist, teasing his thumb up my rib cage until he grazes the underside of my breast. His nose touches my clammy temple. “I’ll come all over them and leave you a mess.”
My insides start a riot, melting and exploding left and right. I press further into the solid wall and Devlin follows, not allowing any relief from his body heat or the feel of his abs. He inhales, tracing his nose down the side of my face.
“What are you doing?” My voice is edged with a tremor. I clench his crisp shirt in my grip. “We hate each other.”
I should hate him for this. I have to find it before this gets out of hand. But searching inside for any scrap of logic, I turn up none, only the insane spark of attraction.
How can I be turned on by the wicked look in Devlin’s eyes as he holds my waist and breathes against my skin? This is crazy.
I need to stop this. Need to retaliate. I want to slap him across the face, but I’m afraid of breaking one of his arbitrary unspoken rules. What if he ends our arrangement with some bullshit breach of contract? Losing the only cash flow I have isn’t an option.
“Haven’t you ever heard of hate sex?” Devlin chuckles into my neck, and, oh, fuck, that shouldn’t feel as good as it does. I’m mortified by the way I claw at his shirt with both hands. “If you try that shit again, I’ll have you on your back with your hand or mouth around my dick so fast you won’t be able to catch your breath.”
His lips skim against my neck when he speaks. It sends a rush of tingles across my skin, the burst of hot and cold rippling. I shiver, unable to muffle a small sound as I clench my thighs together in an attempt to relieve the pressure coiling tighter.
“Devlin,” I whisper, intent on finishing that disgustingly breathy sentence by telling him to get the fuck off me.
He gives me an answering rumble, the deep primal sound making me squirm. Unfair and un-fucking-cool. How the hell is he capable of making a sexy sound like that?
Devlin chuckles into my overheated neck. It’s quick, but I jolt at the hint of his teeth scraping over my sensitive skin.
“What—”
The bell rings, interrupting whatever is going on right now.
Devlin tenses. I feel the clench of his abs against me. Right before students spill into the hallway, Devlin leaves me cold, wet, and alone, plastered against the wall with my face flaming. His face is an unreadable shield, like he’s unaffected by the cruel new way he devised to toy with me.
Taking my limp hand, Devlin slaps a wad of cash in it and pushes me through the nearby bathroom door, muttering, “Clean yourself up, you fucking pest.”
The door slams behind me before I have the chance to whirl around and tell him off. I poke my head into the hall, but he’s gone.
Pursing my lips, I retreat into the bathroom, claiming the stall farthest from the door, and barricade myself inside. I lean against the wall, scrubbing my face.
“What the actual fuck,” I mumble against my palms.
I pound the bottom of my fist against the stall, savoring the satisfying thump it makes.
