Page 101 of How to Lose a Pack in 10 Dates

“God, you love this,” he snarls. “Youloveme like this. Rough. Angry. Out of control.”

I moan.Pathetic. Fuckingundone.

He pins me harder to the wall, one hand on my throat as the other fists into my hair.

“You remember how this ends, don’t you?” he breathes against my jaw. “With you on your knees or your back, wrecked and ruined and begging for more.”

I shudder. “I hate you.”

“You should,” he snaps, biting down on my throat just hard enough to make me gasp. “Youshouldhate me. But that doesn’t stop you dripping all over my fucking leg.”

I moan, furious with myself, furious withhim; with the way his voice turns sharp when he’s like this, with the way my body gives in anyway. He shoves my panties aside, no pretense, no warning, and drags two fingers through the slick coating my slit. He groans—deep, low, fuckingferal—then raises them to my lips.

“Go on, baby,” he grins. “Taste what hating me does to you.”

“Fuck you,” I whisper, but I open my mouth anyway.

He shoves them in, and I suck, watching his pupils blow wide as I drag my tongue along the length of them. He’s panting now, grinding against me, rutting as though he’s seconds from snapping.

“You want it like before?” he hisses. “Rough and raw?”

I moan around his fingers.

“You want me to fuck the hate out of you?”

I don’t answer. Ican’t. I’m too busy losing my fucking mind as he grabs me by the hips and flips me around, face pressed to the wall, breath ragged. His chest hits my back, solid and scorchinghot, and he doesn’t waste a second—hips slamming forward, pinning me into place.

“I should make you crawl,” he growls, voice like broken glass and hunger, rough and sharp against the shell of my ear. “Make you spread your pretty little thighs and beg like the needy fucking brat you are.”

I bare my teeth in a snarl, grinding back into him. “I’m not begging.”

He laughs, cruel and low, one hand palming my ass, the other gripping my jaw.

“You always say that. And youalwaysdo.”

My scent betrays me as it floods the space between us, no longer blocked or hidden by my patch, sweet and slick and desperate. His reaction is immediate, and near violent.

“Fuck,” he bites out, yanking my panties down my thighs with a single brutal motion, “You’re already soaked.”

He drags two fingers through my wetness, then groans. “I knew it,” he snarls, voice wrecked. “Knew you were hiding this from me. Youreekfor me, sweetheart. Youalwayshave.”

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back so my throat arches for him, exposing the scent gland at the base of my neck.

“You think I don’t remember what this fucking neck tastes like?” He leans in, dragging his nose down my pulse point. “Think I forgot the way your scent goes syrup-thick when you’re seconds from breaking?”

“Shut up,” I whisper, but it's pathetic. I can already feel slick coating the insides of my thighs, my knees softening, pulse thudding loud in my throat.

And he hasn’t even fucked me yet.

I hear his zipper and then he lines himself up behind me, dragging the thick head of his cock through my dripping slit—taunting, teasing, letting it catch right at my entrance and smearing wet across my inner thighs.

“Look at you,” he mutters. “All this attitude, all this fight, and still soaking for me.”

He pushes forward just enough to make me whimper, then pulls back. Taunting me.

“You think Jace and Cam made youneedy?” His teeth scrape down my throat. “They don’t know how toruinyou.”

“Maybe I just felt bad for you,” I pant. “Call it pity slick.”

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