Page 7 of Fighting Fate

“Get the fuck out of here,” he tells Peter, his voice monotone and his stance rigid. “Walk away, or I’ll show you who I am.”

True to himself, Peter is all talk. Muttering something I can’t make out under his breath, he does as Rory told him to.

I’m stunned by how Rory’s jumped to my defence even though we’ve been verbally sparring all night. Something tells me I need to pull away when he turns to me and asks, “Who’s the asshole?”

Embarrassed to admit it, I shrug, looking down at where our hands are still connected.

“You can let go now.”

“Is that what you want?” The question lingers between us, hanging heavily while he inches closer, his body pressing to mine in the darkened recess.

When I look up, I find him watching me intently, thick lips pressed together in thought, as though he’s studying me. Or maybe he’s seeing right through me. That’s what it feels like, at least. Like he can see the conflict pushing and pulling inside my chest and knotting in my gut.

“You gonna answer any of my questions, or we standing around the rest of the night?”

“I don’t owe you anything…”

“Never said you did,” he retorts, leaning forward so that he lowers closer. “I don’t fuck girls with dickhead boyfriends.”

“I’m thirty-four years old. I’m a fucking woman.”

“Wanna get fucked by a real man?”

My breath hitches, and even though my head is ready to blurt whatever it takes to push him away, I find myself nodding while my other hand rests on his hip. Before I can change my mind, Rory’s mouth is crushing mine. The scratch of his stubble burns my skin while his lips tease mine. Our bodies are flush, and his hand squeezes mine harder while he holds it at the top of my arse.

It’s not until I open my mouth that he licks inside. A deep hum vibrates from him, guttural and low enough that it makes my insides buzz with anticipation for more. My pulse can barely keep up with itself when he sucks my lip into his mouth and his other hand fists in my hair.

Every bite, lick, and suck is as rough and strong as the man himself. Unapologetic and confident in a way that makes it impossible to resist him. I can’t fight the need scorching at my insides, so much so that when he pulls away, I whimper.

“Fuck, the tequila tastes a helluva lot better on your tongue.” His remark is blurry in my ears as he guides me through the club, my hand in his as we navigate the crowd, getting caught between pockets of people. I find myself slowing so that he stops and kisses me again.

“You’re a good kisser,” I tell him, grasping his face between my hands so that he can’t pull away.

“Doll, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” The low gravel of his laugh has my thighs pressing together as liquid desire soaks my underwear.

You can tell a lot by the way a man kisses. His are deep and filled with promise for more. As nice as it was to have him defend me, I’m not looking for promises. I’m not looking for anything beyond tonight.

“This is a one-time thing, yeah?” I say when we reach the cloakroom, and he requests our jackets.

“Whatever you want, Lo.”

“That’s not my name.”

“What does it matter what I call you if it’s a one-time thing?” He’s got a point, and I don’t bother arguing with him while he helps me put my jacket on. “But I’ll warn you now, I will ruin you for any other man.”

The grin that tugs at one side of his face makes my heart skip a beat or two. My legs threaten to turn to jelly when his tongue licks across his lips. Taking my hand, Rory leads me to a waiting car, and before I settle in my seat, he’s pulling me onto his lap and he’s kissing me again.

Rougher. Harder. His unrelenting assault of my mouth promises that he may just deliver on the warning he gave. And I’m here for it. I’m all in, even if it’s just for one night.

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