Page 30 of Calypso's Shield
The entire party slows, heads turning toward the commotion, but no one steps in because if you fuck around, you find out.
Farris is standing above the asshole, his chest rising and falling, hands flexing, eyes a storm of something dark and deadly. He looks down at the guy. “Did she say she was interested?”
The man coughs. Shakes his head. “N…no.”
Farris crouches down, voice low and lethal. “Then you touch her again, and I break more than your face. Got me?” The guy nods so fast I’m surprised his neck doesn’t snap.
Farris shoves him backward, then turns to me. His gaze is different now. Darker. Heavier. “You good?” he asks.
I should be mad. Should tell him I could’ve handled it myself. But the way he’s looking at me like I’m something worth fighting for? Yeah, it does something to me.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice softer than I mean it. “I’m good.”
What I don’t say is how much I fucking want him right now and he sees it. Oh, he fucking sees it and I see it in him too.
A few hours later, the night ends with Farris and I stumbling into the hotel room. We’re on each other in a flash.
Mouths. Hands. Desperation.
Farris slams me against the door, his body crushing into mine, pressing into me so hard I feel the rough wood bite into my back. His hands are on my hips, tight and possessive. His fingers dig in like he’s staking his claim. The heat rolling off him sears through my clothes, and before I can catch my breath, his mouth crashes into mine.
Rough. Desperate. Demanding.
There’s nothing slow, nothing soft. Just the way I like it.
I bite his lip, hard enough to make him growl, a deep, guttural sound that vibrates between us. His grip snatches up my neck, his palm firm but careful, just enough pressure to make my pulse race like my bike at full throttle.
He drags me deeper into the kiss, his tongue tangling with mine, stealing the air from my lungs like he wants to own every single breath I take. My nails scrape up his arms, his shoulders, yanking at his cut, needing skin, heat, more.
“You like watching me fight for you, baby?” he rasps against my lips, his breath hot, his fingers digging into my waist like he wants to leave bruises.
I smirk, breathless. “Maybe.”
He chuckles, but it’s dark, wicked, full of something that sends a hot pulse of need straight between my thighs. His hand slides lower, slipping under my cut, under my shirt, and when his fingers find bare skin, I shudder.
“I think you liked it a little too much,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down my jaw, my throat, my collarbone. His stubble scrapes against my skin, a perfect mix of rough and intoxicating.
I don’t get the chance to bite back before he moves. Fast. Controlled. Unrelenting.
He spins me around, pressing my front against the door, his body flush against mine, his heat sinking deep. His hands trail down my sides, my hips, gripping, teasing, pushing me to the edge of losing all control.
His lips brush the back of my neck, and his voice is low, gravelly, pure fucking sin. “You gonna let me ruin you tonight, baby?”
I grip the doorframe, arching back into him, already burning from the inside out. “Farris.” My voice is hoarse, demanding.
He grins against my skin, his hands sliding lower, between us, his breath hot against my ear. “Say it,” he orders, his tone pure fucking authority.
My nails dig into the door, my head dropping forward as the tension coils so tight I swear I might break apart before he even touches me the way I need him to.
“Ruin me.”
Farris chuckles, but there’s no humor in it. Just pure fucking hunger.
His grip tightens on my hair, and his free hand slides down, slow, teasing, skimming beneath my shirt, his calloused fingers rough against my skin. He pushes the fabric up, over my ribs, higher, until he yanks it off and tosses it somewhere behind us.
Farris’s hands are on me, palming, kneading, exploring like he’s memorizing every inch before he wrecks me. I arch into his touch, but before I can reach for him, he spins me around, pinning me against the door again, this time face-to-face.
His mouth crashes into mine. It’s not a kiss. It’s a fucking war. Teeth. Tongue. Desperation. Need. Control slipping through our fingers.
