Page 57 of That's Too Pucking Bad

“What do you want?” I snap as I fling the door open, trying to hold onto my anger, trying to keep him at arm’s length.

But he steps past me, shutting the door, and suddenly, he’s right there, all-consuming. Before I can utter a protest, his hands are on me, pinning me to the wall, his body pressing into mine, claiming space I’m not ready to surrender.

“Tell me what you texted,” he growls, his voice a low, menacing whisper. “I want to hear it from you. Tell me how I make you feel, Remy.”

I swallow, my words catching. He’s too close, his scent, that dark edge in his eyes— it’s suffocating. “It doesn’t matter,” I try to say, voice wavering.

“Doesn’t matter?” He laughs, low and dark, and the sound reverberates through me, his breath skimming my neck, teasing. “You’re a terrible liar.”

His hand trails down my side, heat flaring under his touch as he cups my jaw, tilting my face up, forcing me to meet his gaze. I can see the storm in his eyes, and I know he’s not leaving until he’s gotten what he came for.

“Do you hate me now?” he taunts, his fingers grazing my cheek. His thumb brushes my lip, rough and possessive.

“Yes,” I whisper, but even I can hear the tremor, the lie wrapped in that single word.

His laughter is a challenge, igniting something darker, something reckless. “Then tell me to leave.”

I should. The words are there, on the tip of my tongue, but they won’t come out. Instead, my fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him closer. He smirks, victorious, and in a swift movement, he lifts his mask and crushes his mouth to mine, a brutal, demanding kiss that shatters any lingering hesitation.

His lips are hot, insistent, claiming me as his fingers slide to my waist, lifting me effortlessly. I gasp as my back hits the wall, my legs instinctively wrapping around him as he deepens the kiss. He’s everywhere, his hands, his mouth, his breath, invading every sense, every thought.

He pulls back, his gaze searing into me, peeling away my defenses. “Say it,” he demands, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling my head back to meet his eyes. “Tell me you want this.”

My breath hitches. I should shove him away, I should do something— anything— but the need, the raw ache he’s awakened, keeps me rooted. “I want–”

He waits, a dark gleam in his eyes, his hand sliding up my thigh, possessive, unyielding.

“I want you,” I finally admit, the words slipping out before I can even process them, a confession that leaves me breathless, raw.

“Glad to fucking hear it.” His voice is a dark promise, and he grins, a predatory gleam in his gaze as he peels away my shorts, his hands moving over my bare skin, igniting a fire I can’t control.

“What are you doing?” I manage, barely able to breathe, caught between anger and the desperate pull he’s ignited.

“Claiming what’s mine,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing lower, teasing, torturing.

He leans in, pressing his lips to my ear, his voice a dark, intimate whisper. “Tell me you hate me again.”

I bite back a moan, anger mingling with desire, but I can’t stop myself from leaning into his touch, surrendering to the storm he’s brought to my door.

And as his lips claim mine again, I know there’s no going back.

It’s ridiculous, standing here talking to a guy in a mask. Makes my skin prickle, but I try to ignore it, crossing my arms, and staring him down. “Take it off, Zane.”

He doesn’t answer right away, just watches me from behind that mask like he’s trying to decide. But his eyes— they’re on me, sharp, dark, locked.

He’s close enough I can smell the faint trace of his cologne, something woodsy and clean. “Remy…”

The way he says my name, low, almost a growl— it makes me forget everything else. My pulse speeds up, and before I caneven think, he’s got a hand at the back of my neck, pulling me in, pressing his mouth to mine. It’s hard and hot, and I find myself clutching at his shoulders, the fabric of his shirt bunched up in my fists.

His hands slide down, and suddenly he’s tugging at the hem of my top, pulling it up, peeling it off. I raise my arms, and before I know it, my shirt’s gone, somewhere behind me.

I’m breathless, the heat between us simmering as I lean against the wall, completely undressed and exposed to him. The room is dim, shadows dancing across the walls, but all I can see is Zane, his gaze hungry and filled with a mix of desire and something darker.

“Is your mom home?” he asks, his voice low and teasing.

“Not tonight,” I reply, a rush of nerves racing through me.

“Good.” The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Then let’s make the most of it.”

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