Page 27 of Promises in the Dark

But I knew better than to trust my dick. Still, something about Red was making it hard to think straight.

Fuck, she was a goddamn distraction.

“So did I!” she protested, her voice growing louder.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. She had a point. But that didn’t mean I had to agree.

“Sure, and you also nearly got us killed,” I shot back, doing my best to ignore the growing ache between my legs.

Closing the distance between us, I allowed our bodies to brush against each other, relishing in the charged atmosphere. Our proximity was suffocating, the tension thick enough to cut with a damn knife. My body reacted, betraying me with an involuntary shiver as her gaze met mine.

Leaning in, my voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone, “You think you can stand up to me, Red? You’ve got no fucking idea what I’m capable of.”

Her eyes stayed defiant, but I saw that flicker of doubt. It was satisfying, knowing I had the power to rattle her.

Unable to resist any longer, I allowed my fingertips to trail along her neck, relishing in the softness beneath my touch. The sensation shot through me, my erection getting harder by the second. She was getting to me, and fuck, I was starting to enjoy it.

I pressed my body against hers, letting her feel how hard I was. “You like that, don’t you? I teased, my lips dangerously close to her ear. “The way I make you feel,” I growled, my voice rough with lust.

Her defiance faltered for a second, and I saw the cracks in her armor. That weakness, that vulnerability—fuck, it made her all the more irresistible.

Her breath hitched, and I could feel the heat rolling off her, the thick scent of arousal hanging in the air. Her tremblinghands rose up like she was about to pull me closer. But instead, they shoved against my chest, firm, unyielding.

“Stop playing these games with me!” she commanded and I kinda enjoyed her being bossy.

She was trying to fight it, but deep down, she knew I had her pegged. My cock was aching, throbbing in my pants, but her words cut through the haze of desire, snapping me back to the reality of our fucked-up situation. Reluctantly, I backed off, my body screaming for release.

“What games?” I asked innocently, my eyes locked on her with an intensity that betrayed my filthy thoughts.

Red’s face curled into a grimace as her cheeks burned red. “You know exactly what I’m talking about,” she replied, her breath catching in her throat.

“Oh, you meanthis?” I said, suddenly moving closer to her.

My hand found her thigh, fingers sliding upward, exploring the soft skin toward her hip. Her face flushed even redder as she tried to pull away, but I held her tight.

“Rogue, let me go,” she pleaded, attempting to twist free from my grasp.

“I can feel your pulse,” I said, my voice husky and low. “And your pupils are dilated,” I added, studying every little reaction.

Her green eyes were like a fucking trap, pulling me in, making it hard to breathe. Goddammit, I didn’t want to feel this way. Not about her. I couldn’t let myself get distracted by base, primal urges, no matter how much she was tempting me.

My fist clenched the soaked cloth so tight my knuckles turned white, the wet fabric absorbing some of the tension ripping through me.

I backed the hell off, putting distance between us, needing to cool the fuck down. The air was thick with whateverthat moment between us was, and I needed a second to shake it off.

Red stood there, frozen, her breath ragged, trying to process what just happened.

Yeah, Red. You and me both.

A wave of shame crashed over me, but I shoved it down. No time for that shit. She reached into the trunk and pulled out the bottle of scotch, taking a long, deep swig before handing it to me. I grabbed the bottle, our fingers brushing for a second.

“It’s not my favorite,” she said, gesturing towards the bottle in my hands.

I chuckled, the sound rough and hoarse. “What’s your favorite?” I asked, eager to change the subject. “Please don’t tell me you’re a vodka girl.”

Red’s gaze turned distant for a moment, as if lost in memories. “Bourbon,” she replied without hesitation, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Make it strong, make it burn.”

I gladly accepted the change in subject, relieved to have a momentary respite from the tension between us. “Why the hell bourbon?”

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