Page 97 of When It's Us
“Little possessive, isn’t it?”
He lifts a brow. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”
“Hmm,” I hum, eyes flicking back to the crowd like there might be something more interesting than this conversation.
His gaze sharpens. Dark, steady—like he’s marking every inch of me without a word. No grin, that slow, quiet warning: he’s already staking his claim, ready to replace every thought of that guy.
That heat between us, that silent, dangerous fire, it’s exactly what we do. Andfuck, I love it.
I flash a sly smile, barely leaning in. “I dunno… Maybe I should’ve heard him out.”
His jaw tightens, a flicker of something dangerous sparking in his eyes.
I push off the bar, heart pounding, and start toward the bathroom, daring him to follow.
My blood ignites and I beeline for the bathroom, heart racing and skin tingling.
I hear him just before I swing the door open to the bathroom, voice low, curling around my spine, enough edge to it that I need to see the expression that matches that tone.
I don’t need it. Icraveit.
“Ginger.”
I whirl around, arousal and anticipation lighting a fire in my veins. “What?”
Beneath the flash of anger in his eyes, heat simmers. Something wild, dark. Dark enough and dangerous enough that it burns a hole right through me.
God, I’m a sucker for his control. But at this moment, I want him to lose it. I want to push him until he feels as out of control with this stupid, hot, aching need that I do.Goddamnhim for being so fucking composed all the time. So carefree, so good at holding back when all I want him to do is break.
Break for me.
Breakme.
I cross my arms across my chest, tilt my head, and bite my lip. “You jealous, Hutch?”
Three long strides have him towering over me, even in heels. His voice drops, deliberate, dangerous in the best way. “You’re goddamn right I’m jealous. I’m the only one who gets to touch you like that.”
From the set of his jaw and the posture he took, I could tell that I was one step away from the best kind of punishment, and I couldn’t help but push.
I narrow my eyes at him, incensed that he can read me so easily. “Screw you, Hutch.”
I try to spin away, but he grabs my wrist, hauling me against him.
A startled gasp leaves my throat, my body lighting up.
All I smell is cedar and woodsmoke and the light tang of beer on his breath when he leans in, running his nose along mine. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, filthy girl?”
I struggle to free my wrist, but he raises his other hand and wraps it around the front of my throat, pushing me backward until my back hits the closed bathroom door.
He brings his knee up, pushing between my legs, forcing them open as he delves his tongue against my mouth.
I turn my head to the side to bait him, but when his knee hits the fabric covering my clit under my dress, I whimper and open for him.
He tongue fucks my mouth relentlessly as I grind on his knee, the opening riff of Thunderstruck by AC/DC drifting into the hallway from the main bar.
Keeping our mouths fused, fingers still squeezing my throat, he turns the knob on the door behind me.
I stumble back, but he keeps me upright before shoving me inside and slamming the door behind him. The lock clicking into place is like a delicious sealing of my fate.
