Page 85 of The Price of Forever

“And what would that be?” he asked flatly.

“You should fuck the brat out of me.” I smirked.

His chin dipped, his eyes darkening. “I wouldn’t fuck a brat when I know she’s just doing it to prove a point.”

“And what point would that be?” I challenged, hearing the desperation in my own voice as he started to turn away from me. I couldn’t even stop myself from grabbing his hand. Now that he was so close, I only needed him closer.

His gaze dropped to my hand at his wrist, then up to my face. “You know better than anyone what your little game is about.”

Everything was churning together inside me. Desperate need, repressed desire, the heady realization that I wanted Seven more than I wanted air.

“You can feel for yourself what it’s about.” I couldn’t stop the evil curl of my lips as I watched the desire darken his features. Suddenly he wasn’t pulling away. He drifted closer. “You must need me to spell it out for you, huh?” I rolled my hips in his direction. “I bet you can even feel it through my leggings.”

Seven bridged the remaining space between us in one step, his palms pressed to the wall on either side of me. “You’re wet. I get it. I’m not surprised, since pushing buttons clearly turns you on. But here’s a newsflash—I don’t fuck brats, and I don’t fuck people who don’t have my back.”

His words landed like a sledgehammer. And not because of the brat part.

“What do you mean?” I demanded. I could hear the real hurt in his voice, which had my alarms going off.

“You walked out on me, no heads-up, no nothing, putting both yourself and my work at risk. That’s inexcusable, Jordan, and that’s not the type of woman I go for.”

I blinked rapidly, trying to digest this information in milliseconds. “What type of woman I am shouldn’t even matter. You don’t date.”

“Don’t act stupid,” he growled. “You could put the entire female population of Manhattan in front of me, Jordan, and I’d only see you. Of course it fucking matters. Even if it shouldn’t.”

I felt like I had a concussion. Were we talking feelings? Attraction? Compatibility? Nothing made sense, yet somehow, this was the only thing that made sense.

“I do have your fucking back,” I corrected him. “I told Damian exactly what I’d done the second I showed up here. I told him not to blame you. I told him this was my emotional bullshit and no fault of yours. Happy?”

His jaw flexed as he studied me, his dark gaze bouncing like a pinball across my face. “It doesn’t matter,” he finally bit out.

“I think it does,” I added, suddenly terrified that he’d tear himself away from me and leave me reeling, cold and abandoned. “And for the record, if you put the entire male population of Manhattan in front of me, I’d only see you.” I swallowed a knot in my throat. Should I confess even more? I drew a deep breath and went for it. “Your smile is, like, the best thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t stand how long your eyelashes are, because every time I look at you, I feel like I go a little crazier from how much I want you. I would climb on your back like a koala if you’d let me. I’ve never wanted someone more than I want you, Antonin Silva, and it’s just—”

Seven dipped down, cupping my face in his rough hands as his lips met mine. The rest of my accolades melted into heartbreaking kisses, tender and seeking and heated. I whimpered, clutching the backs of his hands as we kissed, more deeply and passionately than ever before. I writhed beneath his touch, desperate for unending amounts of him. Our tongues moved slowly together in a rhythm all our own.

When we broke for air, the drugged look on his face was enough to undo me. I collapsed against the wall, suddenly unable to use my legs. He bit his bottom lip, his gaze dragging up and down my body.

“So what’s the plan now?” he asked, the corner of his lip curling up as he smoothed his hands over the dip of my waist and down the sides of my legs. “Just fuck you in here before dinner with your family?”

“As long as we lock the door, I don’t see a problem with that…”

One of his hands drifted across my thigh and between my legs. His gaze went hooded as he swiped his fingers over the crotch of my leggings. The brief pressure against my clit made my knees buckle. He caught me before I slid to the ground.

“You’re right,” he whispered hotly in my ear. “I can feel it through your leggings.”

A shiver raced through my body. I angled my head toward him, welcoming more of that gritty voice right in my ear.

“I bet you could feel it through my pants, too,” he added, and then gently bit my earlobe.

I moaned low, bucking my hips in his direction, just as I heard a deep voice call out, “Jordan?”

His gaze snapped to the door.

“I’m in the spare room,” I called out, as Seven took several steps’ worth of distance. “Just arguing with my bodyguard.”

“Oh, cool,” Axel said, his voice much closer to the door now. “Hope you guys hash it out soon, because we’re trying to do a toast.”

“Be there in a second,” I said brightly, watching as Seven arranged his cock through his pants. The ridge there was delectable—edible—swallowable. I licked my lips involuntarily.

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