Page 77 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Run.”

I don’t think, I just dart. Fear bubbles up in my chest when I hear his heavy footfalls on the floor behind me. I make it to the back door, only to nearly sink to my knees and beg for forgiveness when it rebounds off his boot, sending it smacking back into the wall with a harsh crack.

“Please—“ I try, but it’s lost on him. I’m well and truly fucked now. I try to skirt past him, but he catches me around the waist, hauling my back to his front and picking me up, carrying me straight inside towards the bathroom.

Is he going to drown me?

“What’s the matter, little devil?” he sneers in my ear, his breathing just as heavy as mine when he drops me on my feet in the shower and climbs in behind me. He spins me around, pinning my hands above my head with one of his, and reaches for the faucet. “Afraid to get a little wet?”

I scream when the ice-cold water from the showerhead cascades over us, drenching us both down to the bone. He doesn’t seem to care, too pissed off to worry about the frigid arctic waters spilling from the taps.

“Christian,” I growl, surging against him, but he doesn’t release me, pinning me with his entire front molded to mine. I can feel his cock digging into my stomach.

Oh my God . . . is he turned on?

He cocks his head to the side, his gaze darkening when my tongue darts out to capture a water droplet on my lip. A shiver moves through me, but despite my struggle, something warm settles in my core with the brush of his knee pressed between mine.

Oh my God . . . amIturned on?

“Let me go,” I growl, despite the heaviness settling between my legs.

“Play with fire, sweetheart, you’re going to get burnt,” he rasps, water running down the side of his face and over his scar.

I surge forward, and for a split second, my hands are free before he pins them back to the tile. In the process, my leg wraps around his hip in an effort to try and throw him off, but it only opens me up to feeling the friction of his jeans brushing against the cotton-covered center of my thighs.

Please, God. Anyone but him.

He pauses when he sees my reaction, his gaze dark as sin.

In a millisecond of a moment, he readjusts, and my eyes flutter closed at the overwhelming sense of longing I haven’t felt in nearly a year. My blood vibrates in my veins, the rush of adrenaline sliding down my spine and heading straight to where his thigh brushes against me.

All the fight leaves my body, replaced with a fire that laps at my skin. He repeats the motion, and my head falls forward to rest on his shoulder from the moment of shame that envelops me.

“No,” he grits, so quiet, I can barely hear him. “You look at me.”

He pushes me back, releasing my wrists, and the blood tingles as it rushes back through them.

I should push him away. I should call him every name under the sun for what he said in the kitchen.

In that moment, though, all I can think about is how good the friction of his thigh feels against my clit.

His hand goes to my hip, kneading the flesh, before he moves me over his leg. I bite back the desperate whimper that tries to claw its way free, holding his gaze as he does.

“Mila,” he grits, his voice rough and uncontained when I grind against him. He repeats the motion with his hand on my hip, and this time, a shudder ripples through me as the burning hot lust ignites in my stomach. “What do you want?”

It justhadto be him.

“I want you to shut up,” I whisper. He presses his lips to the hollow where my shoulder meets my neck, and a shiver rolls through me. My nails dig into his shoulders, soaking wet from the icy water long forgotten overtop of us. His hand tightens to bruising strength on my hip, his other sliding up to fist the curled ends of my hair and drag my head to the side to grant him more access.

A soft whimper leaves my throat while we grind together shamelessly, neither of us speaking past hushed groans that rumble through his chest and the soft sighs that slip from my lips.

My eyes flutter closed, my pulse racing in my throat, and I lean my forehead against his shoulder in an effort to survive whatever this is that’s happening between us.

When a moan claws its way from my lips, he pushes me back against the wall, his body crowding over mine and his hand slipping down to my thigh. He lifts my leg, and my arms go around his shoulders, allowing him to roll his hips into me and draw out the pleasure burning through me.

His tongue slips up the side of my neck, a quiet groan leaving him while we rock together. He nips and sucks a path up the smooth column of my throat, along my jaw, to rim the shell of my ear. Goosebumps pebble on my flesh, and I arch my neck to give him more access, my teeth grazing his shoulder to silence his name, leaving my lips.

He’s going to make me come, and we’re still fully clothed.

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