and he thought it was funny.
He chuckled, bit the lobe of my ear and said tightly, “You remind me of a cat.”
I have my own feline type grace. Everybody says I move with something they can’t quite imitate. I say it’s because I’m a total woman, not a freaking wolf-blood. But, anyway, bringing it up--that’s an insult from a dog. Foreplay.
“Fuck you.” Click. Click. Click.
Spinning my chair without warning, putting his hands on the arms, and his face an inch from mine, he waited for the full effect of his intense gaze to sink in before he said, oh so quietly, “That’s exactly what I had in mind, Giselle.”
It was a battle of wills. I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, and he wanted me there. But I was mad at his neglect, his cheating--not that he owed me monogamy--and his alpha sex appeal commandeering, ah, that made me furious. It was a matter of principle to look him in the eye, something I don’t think many people did, and come up with a suitable retort. It took me a minute.
A long minute while I looked at his black eyes and knew he was trying to pin my brainwaves. But while he was gone, I lined myself up for a new experiment he didn’t know anything about. A freaking mind-blocking serotonin derivative. He was fresh out of luck if he was looking to read my mind then. I had to let a slow smile creep onto my face...about the time I think he figured out that he wasn’t getting in my head.
He had to admire me, I think, as much as he hated me. I could see wonder cross his features very briefly before his gaze hardened even more.
As it turns out, I didn’t have to come up with anything clever. He surprised me by saying, “You are one fucking beautiful bitch.” And he kissed me hard.
Now, I have to explain this...Hood’s kisses are more like assault. He plunders your mouth. It doesn’t matter if you try and fight the urge to give in. Not that you can fight for long. Or that you’d ever really want to.
It’s just an act you have to try for. You know, a little self-preservation?
My chair’s tipping back and he’s all over me, and before long, I’m clinging. That’s about the time he pulls up, when he has me gasping and wanting.
Letting my chair come back to upright, he looks in my eyes again, satisfaction on his face. He knew he could get me hungry, licking my lips, and that makes him completely proud of himself.
The perfect time for a good retort. So I respond with a small smile and a killer gaze. “You must’ve been practicing.”
A clever cut that lets him know that I really am furious with him. Brilliant, right? Of course, it backfired.
He calculated his response before asking, “Can you taste where I’ve been?”
I could, but I resisted the urge to spit. What could I say to that?
Chapter Two
A million things ran through my mind. How much I hated him. How much I hated myself for falling in love with him. How much I needed to show him that he would always come back to me. Or why he should, anyway.
I reached up, grabbed him by the tie. As he pulled away, I came up out of the chair. One fluid motion.
He realized that stepping back would tighten the noose and empower me a little bit, of course, so he didn’t give me the satisfaction. In fact, he crowded me, wrapped his arms around me, pulled me up into his chest with no escape, clamped his hands on my ass and pulled me against him with a little more force than was needed.
Things are like that between us, all the time. Sexual tension steals our air, forces us to be aggressive. Enhanced DNA. You can’t fight the friggin’ facts of life. Once you have it, your animal tendencies come to the fore. Fighting it just makes you miserable. Embracing it just makes you crazy. Fucking crazy. Go ahead and laugh. We
He chuckled, bit the lobe of my ear and said tightly, “You remind me of a cat.”
I have my own feline type grace. Everybody says I move with something they can’t quite imitate. I say it’s because I’m a total woman, not a freaking wolf-blood. But, anyway, bringing it up--that’s an insult from a dog. Foreplay.
“Fuck you.” Click. Click. Click.
Spinning my chair without warning, putting his hands on the arms, and his face an inch from mine, he waited for the full effect of his intense gaze to sink in before he said, oh so quietly, “That’s exactly what I had in mind, Giselle.”
It was a battle of wills. I wanted nothing more than to be in his arms, and he wanted me there. But I was mad at his neglect, his cheating--not that he owed me monogamy--and his alpha sex appeal commandeering, ah, that made me furious. It was a matter of principle to look him in the eye, something I don’t think many people did, and come up with a suitable retort. It took me a minute.
A long minute while I looked at his black eyes and knew he was trying to pin my brainwaves. But while he was gone, I lined myself up for a new experiment he didn’t know anything about. A freaking mind-blocking serotonin derivative. He was fresh out of luck if he was looking to read my mind then. I had to let a slow smile creep onto my face...about the time I think he figured out that he wasn’t getting in my head.
He had to admire me, I think, as much as he hated me. I could see wonder cross his features very briefly before his gaze hardened even more.
As it turns out, I didn’t have to come up with anything clever. He surprised me by saying, “You are one fucking beautiful bitch.” And he kissed me hard.
Now, I have to explain this...Hood’s kisses are more like assault. He plunders your mouth. It doesn’t matter if you try and fight the urge to give in. Not that you can fight for long. Or that you’d ever really want to.
It’s just an act you have to try for. You know, a little self-preservation?
My chair’s tipping back and he’s all over me, and before long, I’m clinging. That’s about the time he pulls up, when he has me gasping and wanting.
Letting my chair come back to upright, he looks in my eyes again, satisfaction on his face. He knew he could get me hungry, licking my lips, and that makes him completely proud of himself.
The perfect time for a good retort. So I respond with a small smile and a killer gaze. “You must’ve been practicing.”
A clever cut that lets him know that I really am furious with him. Brilliant, right? Of course, it backfired.
He calculated his response before asking, “Can you taste where I’ve been?”
I could, but I resisted the urge to spit. What could I say to that?
Chapter Two
A million things ran through my mind. How much I hated him. How much I hated myself for falling in love with him. How much I needed to show him that he would always come back to me. Or why he should, anyway.
I reached up, grabbed him by the tie. As he pulled away, I came up out of the chair. One fluid motion.
He realized that stepping back would tighten the noose and empower me a little bit, of course, so he didn’t give me the satisfaction. In fact, he crowded me, wrapped his arms around me, pulled me up into his chest with no escape, clamped his hands on my ass and pulled me against him with a little more force than was needed.
Things are like that between us, all the time. Sexual tension steals our air, forces us to be aggressive. Enhanced DNA. You can’t fight the friggin’ facts of life. Once you have it, your animal tendencies come to the fore. Fighting it just makes you miserable. Embracing it just makes you crazy. Fucking crazy. Go ahead and laugh. We
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