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“What the fuck are you doing?” I choke out. My hands grip his wrist, and I use every ounce of strength in me as I attempt to pull him away. He’s too strong, though, and there’s no way I’ll be able to force him off of me.
There’s too much anger in his blood.
“Yo, what’s up?” Atticus says from outside, and I can feel the vibration of his palm as he bangs on the door.
I open my mouth to scream for help, when he slams his free hand over my mouth, his palm warm, smelling of tobacco, as it lays flush over my lips. His thumb and pointer pinch my cheeks until I feel a hint of pain.
“I’ll be right there. Meet you in the car, Atticus,” Felix growls, leaning in until he’s only a breath away.
My eyes widen, my lips separating against his palm.
Felix stares at me, pinning me in place until Atticus grumbles, the sound of the wood creaking as he walks down the steps.
Finally, he peels his hand away. “I should kill you for the stupid shit you did.”
I narrow my eyes, taking a step closer to him until my chest brushes his. He stands up straight, his body tensing as he watches me. “You’re an idiot. It wasn’t my fucking idea, Felix. It was Vera’s. If you have a bone to pick, take it up with your best friend’s girl.”
He grabs my shoulders, whipping me around and slamming me back against the door, the weak wood rattling on the hinges. My breasts push into the wood, aching from the pressure.
Felix is on edge right now, more so than usual.
“It’s unfortunate that you’re the one I want to bruise, little witch.”
My cheek smushes against the cool wood of the door, and I glance at him over my shoulder.
“You’re messing with the wrong person. I’m not a fucking whore you can put on her knees. I’ll never bend for you. I’ll never fucking break for you.” I won’t, not ever. This man has always been a thorn, but I’ll take my last breath before I allow him to make me bleed.
“Though it seems the moment my fingers brush between your thighs, that changes, doesn’t it? Your knees grow so weak you become submissive, bent before me like a little slave,” he taunts, and I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood.
“And you want to know something?” he whispers, leaning in until he’s hovering over my back, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “I think I like you better when you’re on your knees.” His hand drops to my waist, squeezing tightly before he drops them to my thigh. He drags my dress up around my hip, until I feel a brush of cool air caressing my fishnet-covered skin.
“I hate you. Get the hell off me.” I attempt to whip my body around, but he pins me back in place so tightly, my bones dig into the door.
“I hate you too, little witch,” he sighs. “My greatest enemy. The one who I dream about watching crumble and fall, yet I can’t get the vision of my fingers wrapped around your hair while I tear into your cunt out of my fucking head.”
I grind my teeth, detesting my body for growing wet with arousal from his words.
Bringing my foot up, I slam my heel down on the toe of his boot. It’s enough for him to stumble back, and I whip around, shoving him back with every bit of strength I have in me.
“You may hate me, Felix Port. But I detest you with every ounce of blood running through my veins. You may have had your way with me, and you may have even made it feel good, but it was a mistake. Every moment I’m with you is another unbearable mistake. If I had my way, I’d rather sleep with anyone else on the planet than sleep with you. I’d rather let your best friends stick their dicks in me before I allow you to step even an inch in my direction.” I spit the words from my lips without question. I believe them to be true, even as my heart thumps heavily in my chest.
I want to believe them, and I do. I hate this man, yet there’s something about him that makes my skin light on fire.
I want to snuff it out. I want to pretend he doesn’t exist, so these feelings I detest so greatly can be removed from my soul.
I hate him, and I hate that I still want him.
He sneers, his body turning to stone as he stalks back to me. “I’d kill you and my best friends if you so much as lay a finger on them.”
We’re toe to toe at this point, forehead nearly brushing forehead as we growl at each other, teeth bared, fists clenched at our sides. “You’d never kill your friends,” I growl.
“I would if they tried.” We do this backward walk again, until my back is flush against the door again, and he leans down, his lips ghosting over mine, only a breath that has me wondering if they touched at all. The locks of his dark, messy hair fall against his forehead, brushing against mine in the process.
“Tried what?” I narrow my eyes.
His tongue pokes out, and he licks his lips, grazing my lips with the movement. “To touch you,” he rasps.
My chest rattles with nerves, heaving against his, every breath a brush of our shirts. He’s so toxic, so dark, so full of rage, yet I can’t find it in me to step away. “Why?” I whisper, my gaze darting from his eyes and back to his lips.
