Page 97 of Undisputed Player
"Because I can't lose you!" His voice broke, desperate and fierce. "Because the thought of those bastards touching you makes me want to tear the fucking world apart!”
My voice trembled at the admission. This was the once-playboy laying his heart out raw, forme.
We were inches apart, breath hot and heavy, lingering anger and desire crackling between us like wildfire. His eyes were wild as he stared down at me.
“Why are you fighting me on this?" His voice was rough, raw, as if he truly couldn’t understand.
"Because you're not asking me to be your partner," I hissed, my own frustration simmering. "You're trying to make me your responsibility."
"That's not—" He stopped, jaw clenched, the weight of my words sinking in.
"It is," I said, softer but no less fierce. "You want to protect me? Fine. But I’m a survivor. I don't break."
The silence stretched, thick and heavy. His arms still caged me in, but the fire in his eyes softened, replaced by something darker, hunger and frustration warring together.
"You drive me fucking insane," he growled.
"Good," I breathed, chin lifted defiantly. "Because you do the same to me."
His gaze dropped to my lips, the tension snapping, anger melting into raw, desperate hunger.
"You have no idea what you did when you fought me like that,” he whispered.
“What did I do?” I challenged, voice low and daring.
“This.”
His mouth crashed onto mine, all fury and need. The kiss was brutal, hungry—his hands tangling roughly in my hair as he pulled me closer. Something hard clattered against the kitchen table as he pressed forward, the sound sharp in the mostly quiet apartment.
My eyes flickered past him to the table.
The gun.
It had fallen from his waistband when he'd lunged for me before coming to rest near my laptop. My breath hitched even as his tongue invaded my mouth, the sight of that sleek silver weapon sending an unexpected jolt through me.
When he pulled back, we were both breathing hard, his forehead pressed against mine.
“Bad girl,” he growled, his voice thick with something darker than anger. "Staring at it like you want to touch it."
I swallowed guiltily. My eyes had indeed lingered on the weapon behind him, drawn by the sound and the gleam of silver against the wood. The gun looked alien among the domestic chaos of our evening—deadly and beautiful, like the man who carried it.
“I—”
"Don't lie to me." His hand cupped my jaw, thumb pressing hard against my lower lip as he loomed over me. "I can see it in your eyes. You're curious about what I'd do with it."
The crude edge to his voice sent heat spiraling through me despite my lingering frustration. There was something wrong with me, something that made my pulse race at the sight of that weapon, at the knowledge of what it represented.
"You're being an ass," I whispered, giving him my best glare.
“Yeah?” His smile was sharp, predatory, made more dangerous by the way he towered over my seated form. "Or am I just showing you exactly who you're dealing with? The man who carries death in his waistband because he'll put a bullet in anyone who threatens what's his?"
His thumb pressed harder against my lip, and I felt the cool metal of his ring. Behind him, the gun lay there like a silent promise of violence, and I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting to it.
"You want to know what that feels like, don't you?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Want to know what it's like to have that kind of power protecting you?"
I should have been horrified, but I found myself nodding slightly, my breath coming faster.
"Dirty little princess,” he chided, satisfaction thick in his voice. "Getting wet thinking about it, aren't you? About what I'd do to keep you safe?"
