Page 18 of Fighting Fate

“I’m pretty certain that my lack of a filter is what most people hate about me…I mean, it’s not exactly my best trait.” I look up at him to find him watching me in that intent way of his that makes my tummy swoop. The hunger in his eyes lights up all my senses and fills me with a need I have never felt before. “Stop it,” I tell him, sounding hoarse and breathless.

“Stop what, doll?”

“Stop looking at me like…”

“Like…?”

“Like…like…like I’m your next meal!” Ugh, the bastard has me tongue-tied and in need of a reality slap.

With eyes widening in surprise, Rory pulls back as though trying to get a better look at me. Or maybe he’s trying to read me? I’m not entirely sure. All I know is that I need something to hide behind, and the flowers he’s still holding do the trick when I grab them from him and bury my face in them.

The quiet that follows is unnerving. So much so that I can’t help but look up at him again. Dark pools threaten to pull me under as Rory brushes one side of my long fringe out of my face.

“You’re not my next meal?” he asks.

“Oh my God, what?” With my pulse hammering through me, I whack him in the chest with the flowers before stomping up the steps to my front door.

I’m unlocking it when he comes up behind me, close enough that I can feel his heat permeate through my thin spring jacket before it spreads through me. This is not the bastarding time to lose my head.

Once the front door is open and he’s still at my back, I turn to him again. The smirk on his face is infuriating, even through whatever the fuck is wrong with my synapses. That’s what this is between us—misfiring synapses. I’ve officially gone insane.

“Jesus…you know, I thought that your brain might make up for your looks,” I growl at him with a scowl that only makes his smirk wider. “But fuck me, all that pummelling seems to have affected both…” Because he’s got me that riled up and I’m that petty, I add, gesturing between the two, “Up here and down there!”

A deep, guttural laugh bursts from him. “That’s not what you were saying when my…what was it you called it?”

Oh God!My face is flaming as I recall my first reaction to his dick. It’s good someone likes my lack of a filter because even I hate it.

“That’s right, big dick…no. No. Pretty certain it was monster cock.” After a moment of silent pause where he holds my stare, he hums, “Yeah, you weren’t complaining when my monster cock was in your tight pussy.”

“Well, you had to have something going for you with your lazy left eye.”

“Right,” he scoffs, coming closer. “And your droopy right flap.”

“Excuse me!” Whacking him again with the flowers, I try to wrangle myself out of his hold when he anchors me in place with an arm around my waist. He deserves applause for buying decent flowers, at least, because even when I punctuate each word of my remark with another whack, they don’t fall apart. “I. Do. Not. Have. Droopy. Flaps!” Whack, whack…whack!

I only pause as someone clears their throat behind me. Barely containing his laughter, my downstairs neighbour edges past us while Rory shuffles us inside.

“Hmm…” he murmurs as the door closes behind us and he pins me to the wooden balustrade. “Maybe I should take another look.”

“Seriously?” Dropping the flowers on the bottom step, I use both hands to try and push him away, but he’s too fucking strong.

“I really like this too,” he chuckles, nudging my legs apart with his knee.

“What?”

“Pushing your buttons.”

“Fuck you!”

Without pause, he fires back, “I’m here for it.”

“You…you…ugh! Ugh! You’re so bloody irritating.” He laughs again, holding me tighter. “Motherfucker! I can see why you chose your career…you must have lines of people ready to take a shot at your infuriating mug.”

“My what?”

“Your stupid face,” I snap back.

Deep laughter booms around me, catching me in a tug of war between the urge to laugh with him and the urge to wallop him one.

“My stupid face wants to take you out to dinner.”

No! N-O. No. Nope. Absolutely not.Those would be acceptable replies, but my mouth has other ideas. My idiotic heart skips a beat at the question and the soft smile that follows, and clearly the momentary lack of oxygen causes my lapse in judgement when I say, “Fine.”

“Fine?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. It definitely helps set his features straight because he doesn’t look so bad. There’s something handsome about the lines of his face. Something that has my breath catching in the back of my throat when his lips brush mine. “Is that a yes?”

“I suppose so.”

Hoisting me up his body, he kisses me with a force that silences every thought, dissipating any echo of my logical brain. All I can do is relish the scratch of his beard on my face, the chafing of his rough lips on mine. Nothing exists but Rory Knight and his rugged kiss.

I know that I’m in trouble, but there’s nothing I can do to stop myself from giving in to him.

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