Page 48 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

I still twist the handle and yank on it, desperate to escape.

His breath is hot on my bare neck. Musky cologne and lemony whiskey invade my nostrils, bringing an unwelcome warmth in my belly.

“Don’t, Annie,” he hums in my ear, and I hate that I love that tone. That reproachful vibration that makes my hindbrain immediately dive into attraction when I should be fleeing.

I could blame the hormones or the mate connection, but it’s simplyhim. Wick is overbearing and self-important, but his certain focus on me is compelling and demands my attention.

He presses his strong body against my back, his hips grinding against my ass and making me tilt my head to instinctively offer skin to him.

He presses a lingering kiss at the crook of my neck and shivers rock my body.

I rest my forehead on the cool surface of the door and wait for him to bite me.

I’m expecting it.

He said he’d do it.

He never confirmed he’d wait until I’m ready.

In that moment, in that shining clarity of being pressed against him with my body so prepared to accept the bond, I recognize I do not want this yet and I won’t be giving it up easy.

His rough tongue licks a long line from my shoulder up to my neck and nips at me.

I use the distraction to swing around and shove the heel of my palm into his face. I angle sideways, and even though the strike rolls off his jaw, it still reroutes him to the side.

Pepper spray is hidden in the bedside table. There’s one in my purse too, but there’s too much junk in the bag for me to pick through it.

I spring for the bed, but only make it two steps before he hooks an arm around my waist and swings me to the wall.

“Stop, Annie,” he growls.

I twist and reach for the nightstand anyway.

He traps my wrists above my head and forces me to look at him. I wriggle and fight him off, but still he bests me.

He’s a dragon. I don’t know why I thought I’d be able to beat him. It was foolish, and in that moment, I hate everything.

I hate him for demanding my submission.

I hate myself for wanting it.

I hate this fucking room and this bed and my salvation only a few feet away.

I growl and fight harder, and somehow, I shove him off. He staggers to the area at the foot of the bed, ready to pounce again, but I press both hands to his chest to stop him.

“I hate you!” I scream.

“You hate me?” he hollers back. “I’ve done everything I can for you!”

“Except leave me alone!”

He bats my hands away.

“Annie, I will never leave you alone. You are mine. That’s fate. It cannot be undone. You fighting it is cute, but it’s useless.”

Cute?

CUTE?

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