Page 46 of Throttle

Standing on the other side, he gives a sexy smolder, but his eyes hold darkness. “Open the damn door, Tequila.”

Since he asked so nicely.

No point in delaying the inevitable. As I obey, Throttle's sight travels from my bare legs to my breasts, which are only partially concealed. I know this robe hides nothing. Heat rises on my cheeks as I try pulling it together.

“I’m not sure why you’re here, but I would like to ask you to respect my boundaries. Turn around and go home.” I shoo him, but he only quirks an eyebrow and his chest moves up and down like a wild animal about to let loose.

Once he rips his eyes away from my body, he growls. “Fuck that.” He shoves past, brushing his firm chest against my arm, and I shiver.

His mountainous shoulders tighten as he looks around, perhaps in judgement.

His gaze fixates on the cracked and moldy corner of my ceiling. Yeah, I've been meaning to have that checked out, but my non-existent landlord always rips me off.

Throttle turns back to me, his ears emitting invisible smoke. With a heathen step forward, I take one away, thinking he’s coming for me, but he stomps right past and into my bedroom.

“Um, excuse me.” I chase after him. “Get out of my room, please.”

I don't want him in my private space. Any potential embarrassing items haven’t been removed.

It's driving me crazy that he has said nothing, either.

He hurls open the closet doors, the shutters clinging together, and starts searching for something. When he can't find it, he circles and crouches next to the mattress. I furrow my brows, and the tension in my face strengthens.

What is he looking for?

He lowers his head and extends his arm beneath my bed. My bedroom has never had a man in it before, and his presence makes the four walls grow smaller.

He drags out my floral luggage.

“What are you doing with my stuff?”

It's surprising that dust doesn't fly off from my nonexistent travels.

He is choosing to ignore me again. His neck and jaw muscles tense, and the vein on his temple pulsates.

He tosses my bag onto the bed and marches to my dresser, forcefully yanking open the top drawer, nearly breaking it.

Oh God!

Mortification presents itself when he rummages through my bras and panties.

My face flushes with heat as I lunge for him. “That’s my fucking lingerie, buddy.” I grab the black lace intertwined in his fingers and toss the pair back into my drawer, slamming it closed. He swallows with a twitch of an eye.

Now I'm furious.

I position myself between the dresser and Throttle's tree height, wedging myself close by accident.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, babe.” His voice drips with venom and the possessiveness is melting me to liquid. “Move.”

“I’m not moving, and I insist you leave.” Swallowing, I continue. “I do not know where my best friend is, but he’s not this. You’re acting insane right now.” This new Throttle is despicable.

In an instant, the darkness fades from his brown eyes, and kindness reemerges. As he looks down, lust takes over, and I understand why when the heavy air brushes against my stomach, creeping up to my exposed chest.

Apparently, somewhere in between me cursing at him and saving my panties from his hulk's grip, my robe came undone.

Shit.

Tying it back with trembling fingers, I become uncontrollably damp between my thighs. Give this another ten minutes and a flood will occur.

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