Page 20 of Bedding Rose
“Ruining! I’m trying to fucking save it!” I yell as I pound on the side of the steering wheel, frustrated as shit at her, myself, the goddamned universe. Why does it always have to go this way?
When she speaks next, her voice is tiny, minuscule, as soft as a single note from a piano. “Why? Why do you even care?”
My jaw works as I turn to look at her. How can she even ask that question? Why do I care? Why?
Those light green eyes of hers grow twice as glossy as her lips tighten into a bud. She swallows hard and I can see her neck strain as she stiffens. “Fuck you,” she curses before yanking open her door and jumping out of the Jeep.
No. Not again. Not motherfucking happening.
I yank the parking brake up, turning off the car before kicking open my door and leaving it gaping as I stride after her into the dark parking lot next to the building.
My pulse booms underneath my skin, explosive and loud in my ears as this need that’s been driving me, the fear and worry that have been eating at me, shove me forward. The soles of my shoes crunch over the blacktop as I chase her down, the inability to let go, to lethergo claiming me.
I reach out, grabbing Rose by the elbow and she spins, immediately shoving me as hard as she can. Her tiny hands aren’t strong enough to move me, but I take a step back in surprise and throw my hands up to show her I’m not actually a threat.
“No! This is enough! This is—” Her face is streaked with tears, mascara running just like it did that night. The sight makes my ribs crack open and words come pouring out of me.
“I can’t sleep thinking about what happened. I can’t sleep because it makes me angry—furious—that someone or something hurt you. Nothing should ever hurt you, Rose. Ever.”
“But why do you give a shit?”
Her eyes bounce between mine and I experience something I’ve only ever felt before when I was in the middle of a fight—my brain short circuits. It fritzes and sparks, sending a desperate beam of energy right down the core of my spine. My body’s screaming as if this is a life-or-death moment. Fight or flight. It makes absolutely no sense but every instinct tells me I’m poised on the edge of a cliff, and one wrong word will topple me off.
For some reason, this feels like it’s the most important moment of my life and I’m not completely certain why.
My mouth opens and closes as I stare at her, at my best friend’s little sister, who’s so beautiful even in her anger, who’s gut-wrenchingly lovely even in her sadness. Words fail me, and not only because there’s something about this moment that has my stomach coiling into complicated Celtic knots. My eyes trace the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her lips, before trailing back up to those spring-green eyes. I find myself breathless as I whisper, “Rose, I need you—”
Her body slams into me and her kiss rips away any other words I might have said, obliterates any other thoughts I might have had. Her tiny arms twine around me, and all of a sudden, all this wild energy, this obsessive fury sheds the shell of “protective older brother” I’ve been trying to force onto it.
That excuse cracks wide open and an animalistic fervor, a desire to claim her, rears up.
No one should ever hurt Rose because she’s mine.
The realization hits me with a force that nearly buckles my knees.
My tongue darts out to trace her lips, but she eschews gentleness and sucks my tongue right into her mouth before stroking the underside with her own. I immediately fall into her frantic rhythm, getting caught up in this giddy, wild moment as the energy between us transforms from a one-sided obsession into something else.
Our teeth gnash and fight as our naked lips skim over one another, tongues tangling as my hands seek out her hair and I wrench her head back so that I can get a better angle, seal my lips more fully to hers, and suck out her soul.
We kiss.
And kiss.
And kiss.
The moon could explode overhead and I wouldn’t know it.
I don’t know anything beyond the yearning in my chest, one that isn’t sated by kissing, one that wants more. Not just Rose’s body. But something else … something I can’t define.
My hands fly down to her sides, skimming her perfect figure which is barely covered by the t-shirt she’s wearing. Those leggings I hated when I first picked her up? God, I love them now as I get a handful of ass in either hand, adoring how—even though she’s tiny in comparison to me—her ass overflows around my fingertips. I dig in, getting a good grip on her as her teeth bite down on my lower lip.
Grinning at her frenzy, caught up in the maelstrom with her, I whirl her around and push her up against the window of this fast food joint, uncaring about the show we’re giving the few patrons inside.
I shove my leg between those soft thighs of hers, those precious thighs that are now mine to protect—
“Um. You can’t do that.” An awkward voice makes Rose freeze and my head swivels to the side.
I stare daggers at the fucker who’s interrupted us—a gangly, pimple-pocked teenage boy who can’t weigh over a buck twenty soaking wet. He’s got on a stupidly bright polo and a name tag that reads Miguel. He holds our coffees in a cardboard carrier in one hand, while his other hand scratches awkwardly at his flushed skin.
