Page 130 of When Lies Unfold

With my eyes trained on the doorway, I can’t deny the spark of excitement at seeing him stride into the kitchen. A hint of cruelty lines his mouth while the dim kitchen lights emphasize the stern angles of his face.

Raw magnetism radiates off him, but a fissure of unease races through me when he advances on me, his expression fierce and foreboding.

I scramble out of my seat but instantly regret the move. In my bare feet, his imposing form towers over me more than usual.

He stops in front of me, his eyes snapping with fury as they bore into mine. His words are clipped, his jaw so tight I fear it might shatter at any moment. “He kissed you.”

My brows draw together in confusion. “What?” What the hell is he talking about?

Features stamped with ferocity, his muscles taut with barely banked rage, he grinds out the words, “He. Kissed. You.”

It finally dawns on me, and a healthy amount of my unease ebbs. “Oh. Well…yes. That unfortunately happened.”

Tense lines bracket his mouth as he clenches his fists at his sides. “He dared to put his fuckin’ mouth on you.”

As I peer up at his thunderous expression, it’s now that I notice his ponytail is mussed. This is completely out of character for him.

As my eyes travel over him, his shirt appears a bit wrinkled, but when I notice his busted knuckles, I gasp.

“What happened?” My alarmed gaze flies to his as I take his right hand in both of mine, cradling it gently to inspect his injuries. “We need to get these cleaned up.” When I attempt to take his other hand to look it over more closely, he draws it away.

His eyes glitter with dark intensity, anchoring mine in place, while the threat in his voice feels dangerously tangible. “Did you kiss him back?”

I gape at him, because…that’s what this is about? “Did you punch Nando?”

A muscle in his cheek flickers wildly, his brows in a deep V. He cages me in against the table, and this time, he doesn’t phrase it as a question so much as a demand. “Did. You. Kiss. Him. Back.”

A small, rebellious part of me wants to challenge him, but the rational part senses he’s on the edge. That this isn’t the time to test his limits. It doesn’t mean I don’t deserve an answer of my own, however. “Does it matter?”

My question hangs between us as I search his features for any indication of his feelings. Am I just a passing fascination? The need for this answer is all-encompassing.

Malevolence rolls off him in oppressive waves as he leans in closer. My nerves pull taut as he forces me to tip my chin higher to meet his gaze. “It matters a whole fuckin’ lot.”

Shockwaves ripple through me, but on its heels comes a torrent of pleasure at his response. It matters means that I matter in some way. “Did you punch him for kissing me?”

“Fuck, yeah, I did.” His answer is quick, with zero hesitation. “You’re not his to kiss.”

Those five simple words serve as a confession. He’s laying claim to me. Breath I didn’t realize I was holding whooshes out. “Whose am I, then?”

Brutal sensuality etches his features, unadulterated male possessiveness suffused in his voice. “Mine.” His eyes narrow even more, growing squinty. “Gonna answer me now? Did you fuckin’ kiss him back?”

“Here’s your answer.” My fingers clutch his button-down as I lift to my toes and fuse my mouth to his. The instant our lips meet, pleasure blasts through me like a shockwave.

He doesn’t offer an ounce of hesitation but simply cups the back of my head in one hand while his other molds over my ass. He gives a firm tug, and our bodies mash together, all of my soft curves against his firm muscles.

His mouth works over mine in a desperate, near-violent kiss. It’s as though he’s attempting to evict any remaining trace I might have of Nando’s kiss on my lips. He ravages my mouth with long, savoring licks while his fingers fist in my hair.

Movements rough, he jerks his mouth off mine with an abruptness that catches me by surprise. Voice unyielding like steel, in it, hunger mingles with challenge. “Gotta hear you say it.”

It feels as though fate is encouraging me to throw caution to the wind. There must be a reason why our paths collided. Even if it was solely to grant me a breath of reprieve from my mundane but safe existence, I know all too well how life isn’t guaranteed.

There’s a chance I’ll regret this later, but if I don’t give in to whatever this is between us, I’ll regret it even more.

The fingers of the palm he has on my ass tighten in warning when I don’t immediately volunteer a response.

With my eyes, I trace the sharp edges of his cheekbones, his stern brows, and the curve of his lips framed by his dark scruff. I want to memorize how he looks in this moment, tuck it away for the future, and remind myself of how a man should look at a woman.

Like she’s his everything.

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