Page 33 of Bound By Revenge

“Turnabout is fair play.”

He gives his head a shake. "You're the one who started this."

“It doesn't matter who started it. You took it to a whole new level when youspankedme.”

“And you loved it. You can't deny it. You were soaking wet—I felt it. I can still hear you moaning for more.”

“That’s irrelevant. You intended to leave me hanging. I'm not letting you get away with that!”

He flashes a smile. He’s so hot, I want to claw the clothes off his body so I can see all of it at last. “Is that what this is all about, then? If you’re sexually frustrated, then may I once again suggest you avoid starting something you can’t finish?”

“All right, I'm finishing this. We’re done here. Let me go,” I mutter, pushing against him.

“We’re done when I say we’re done. This back-and-forth, one-upping the other, has to stop,” he says in a placating tone, running a hand through his beautiful black hair.

“Funny you should say that now that I'm in control. Guess what? You can’t control me. I'll do whatever I want, whenever I want. And there's nothing you can do about it,” I say, poking him in the chest.

He snatches my hand before I can poke him again, then grabs the other one and holds them both behind my back.

“You sure about that? I think you wouldn't believe what I can do about it. This battle of wills isn't one you want to fight.”

“I’msotired of you telling me what I do or do not want. You think I won’t stand up to you? Tryme,Nik. Just fucking try me.”

Silence hangs heavy between us as we glare at each other, both burning with anger. His hand, still holding me captive, draws me closer to his body.

“Fuck my life,” he mutters under his breath, so quietly I almost miss it. “Fuckme.”

“What?” I snap, jerking against his grip, but his hands tighten, refusing to let go.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice dark and unsteady. “God, I hate you so fucking much.”

“Good,” I bite back. “The feeling’s mutual.”

He ignores me, shaking his head with a bitter laugh, his gaze locked on mine, burning with something I can’t quite place. “Ihate your hair. That ridiculous, chocolate-brown hair. And those annoyingly blue eyes. I hate your mouth—and every damn word that comes out of it—with a vengeance. And your body. God, I hate that I know exactly how it feels under my hands, like it’s seared into my brain. I hate your stupid games, and the way you push my buttons for sport, with a fucking passion.”

His grip tightens, pulling me just a fraction closer as his voice drops lower, sharp and edged with something I don’t want to name. “But you wanna know what I hate the most?”

I grit my teeth, glaring up at him, heat crawling up my spine. “Go ahead. Lay it on me.I can take it,” I sneer, throwing his own words back in his face.

He leans in, his breath brushing my cheek, his words a quiet, lethal confession. “I hate that even after everything you’ve done to me, all I can think about is you're standing inmykitchen, wearingmyfucking shirt... and nothing else under it.”

I don’t know who makes the first move, but next thing I know, we’re kissing. His mouth crashes against mine, hard, demanding, and furious, like he’s punishing me for everything I’ve done. I meet him head-on. His hands twist in the shirt I’m wearing, yanking me closer until there’s no space between us.

When his hand slides under the fabric, gripping my waist with bruising force, I moan against his lips. His fingers trace higher, brushing the curve of my ribs, and I arch into him, gasping into his mouth. He seizes the moment to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping against mine with a low, guttural groan that vibrates through my whole body.

I don’t stop. My legs wrap around his hips, pulling him as close as I can get him, as I grind against his cock, hard and desperate. I don’t care how it looks. I just want—need—the pressure.

He stiffens against me, his grip tightening, and his breath hitches. A raw sound escapes his lips, and suddenly, his handsare everywhere—gripping my waist, sliding down to my thighs, pulling me against him as if he can’t stand even an inch of space between us.

“Kat,” he growls, his voice low and ragged, before his lips move to my neck. His teeth graze my skin, sending shockwaves through me, and I throw my head back, giving him full access. He takes it greedily, his mouth hot and insistent as he marks a trail along my throat.

“Kat,” he rasps, his voice thick with warning, but I don’t stop.

I tilt my hips and grind harder, mercilessly rubbing against the hard length of him. His grip tightens on my hips, almost bruising, as he tries to pull away.

“Okay, enough,” he growls, breaking the kiss, his voice low and strained. “Stop.”

But I don’t. I can’t. The friction is everything, and I’m so close I can taste it. “Please,” I whisper, grinding harder, angling myself just right to feel the full length of his cock pressing against me through his jeans.

---