Page 19 of Rejected Wolf Mate

“If you cared, we would have talked it out,” I said.

“You wouldn’t have listened,” he said, his voice lowering as the gap between us began to shrink.

“I would’ve listened,” I argued. “And after I’d finished listening, I would have told you you were being a stupid, pig-headed idiot who needed to get his head out of his ass.”

He gave a sardonic grin, then let out a soft chuckle. His hand tightened around my waist. “You would have,” he murmured. “It was one of the things I liked about you.”

“Stop flirting when we’re having a fight,” I snarled, even as my wolf pushed at me, muddling my anger with her own need. “You left me in one of the worst ways possible. You expected me to get over it just like that?”

“I expected you to understand.”

“Understand you didn’t think about all the ways you sneaking off in the middle of the night could go wrong? Absolutely. “

He growled. “You are the most stubborn, infuriating—”

“That makes two of us.”

“Do you realize how hard it was to leave you?” he asked. “How much I’ve missed you?”

“You have a funny way of proving it,” I fired back.

His eyes blazed, not just with anger but unmistakable lust. He leaned forward.

“You want me to prove it to you?” he growled, pressing his body against mine.

“I’d like to see you try.”

That seemed to break the last of his resolve. With a primal snarl, he yanked me toward him, clearing those final few inches, and his mouth collided with mine.

Every kiss, every touch seemed fueled by both lust and anger, years of pent-up emotion spilling through our bodies. Rage and passion and need seemed to jolt through me. I hated him and needed him to fuck me senseless at the same time.

His hand tangled in my hair, and he forced my head upward. His lips slammed against mine as he pushed me against the wall. He grabbed my wrists, pinning them over my head in one large, calloused hand.

“You are the most stubborn, infuriating woman I have ever met,” he growled.

“And you’re an asshole who always thinks he’s right,” I bit back, even as the heat built inside me.

He snarled again, free hand roaming down my side to rest at my hip as he leaned toward me.

“You want to say that again?” he asked. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a different kind of heat beginning to burn my insides as he pulled me closer to him. Everywhere his hands touched became electrified.

I met his gaze, my own eyes filled with a bizarre combination of lust and anger. His mouth was inches from mine.

“You’re an asshole who always thinks he’s right,” I said.

He slammed his lips against mine. He kissed me greedily, hungrily, as if he’d been waiting a century to kiss me again. Want and passion and anger pushed the kiss forward, making it fill every part of my body.

Fingers slipped beneath my waistband, grabbing my ass as he held me in place. His other hand released my wrists to move beneath my shirt, trailing upward, sending new sparks of fire and electricity running through me.

All reason flew out the window, replaced with pure desire. I tugged at his shirt, wanting him to take it off. He obliged. His chest and stomach were perfectly sculpted, more perfect than I remembered, ever muscle defined, somehow making him look even larger. I wanted to feel his bare chest against mine, to trace the lines of his abs and dig my nails into his shoulders.

Before I could move, he grabbed the front of my shirt, ripping it in his haste to get it off and throwing it to the side. He looked me up and down with a hungry, proprietary look, the kind that used to make me burn with need. Apparently, that was still the case. Even though I was still furious with him, I needed him. I saw the bulge in his pants grow and swell with every second.

I didn’t wait. I unclasped my bra, throwing it to the side. His eyes locked onto my breasts as the bulge in his pants grew even more. Just seeing it, knowing what lay beneath and the things he could do with it, doubled that need inside me.

His hands went to my breast, squeezing tight. “I’ve forgotten how much I like these,” he growled, pinching and twisting my nipple, sending ripples of desire rushing through me.

“And whose fault is that?” I gasped.

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