Page 26 of Wrecked
Dragging her to bed was most definitely the last thing on his mind. He looked like he wanted to strangle her.
She sucked in a pained breath, realizing in that moment it didn’t matter what she did, she couldn’t win this. He’d never give in to his feelings for her. He wouldn’t allow himself to have her, would fight their connection tooth and nail. And goddammit, it hurt. She didn’t get it. Was he trying to be noble? Did it have something to do with his friendship with her brother? Or was it something else entirely?
She forced down the pain and focused on the only emotion she could handle right then. Anger. “You have some nerve storming over here and interfering like this. I don’t need another goddamn big brother. One sticking his nose in where it’s not wanted is bad enough. So back the hell off.”
Then she spun around and marched up the steps to her house, unlocked the door, and slammed it shut behind her.
The second she was inside, she ran to the bathroom, fighting back the emotion threatening to spill over, and yanked on the tap. Her face was still wet from Gerald’s slithery tongue and—she gagged—she could smell the seafood bisque he’d had as his main course. “Gross.” She scrubbed her face with soap, then grabbing her toothbrush, loaded it up with toothpaste and brushed her teeth hard enough to remove the enamel.
Where did Cole get off, acting like that? He didn’t want her, or wouldn’t allow himself to, so what? Now no one else could have her, either? Not that she wanted Gerald, but that was beside the point.
She rinsed and spat, then glanced up at the mirror, taking in her flushed face and wild hair. “Crap. No wonder Cole got the wrong idea.” She looked like someone had roughed her up, and not in a good way.
Grabbing a towel, she dried her face—and jumped a foot in the air when the front door crashed open, followed by a familiar, uneven gait coming down the hall. She poked her head around the bathroom door, and Cole’s gaze locked on her as he strode forward, eyes still wild, mouth tight, chest heaving.
“What are you doing? You can’t just barge in here like that.” Heat hit her face when she got a good look at him. The man looked fierce, like whatever control he’d called on outside had gone, poof, completely vanished. In fact, his expression could only be described as savage. Like he had every intention of taking a bite out of her.
She backed up, and he kept coming, right into her tiny bathroom. Her butt hit the vanity at her back, and he crowded in. She searched his face, and what she saw made her knees weak and her heart pound.
Lust.
He held none of it back, and the sight stole her breath.
His hands landed on her hips, and he lifted her off her feet like she weighed nothing, planting her ass on the counter. His fingers flexed, digging into her flesh, and he sucked in a rough breath.
Oh good lord.
Then his hands moved, sliding down over her thighs to her knees. He held her gaze while he did this, like he was waiting for her to protest, like he expected her to tell him to stop. If she could get her mouth to work, instead of hanging open like one of those sideshow clowns, she certainly wouldn’t be protesting. Oh, hell no.
The muscle in his jaw jumped as he slowly spread her legs wide, wide enough that his hips could fill the space between them. Then he growled. A deep sound that vibrated through his chest. “I’m not your fucking brother.”
Chapter Nine
Cole’s hips were nestled between Piper’s thighs. Her big baby blues trained on him. This was all kinds of wrong. But there was not a hope in hell of stopping. Nothing could move him from this spot, not until he’d had another taste of her.
He’d seen her with that fucker, his hands on her, and he snapped, his control snapped, and there was no getting it back.
He looked down between their bodies. His chest was bare, and Piper’s small hands rested against his sides, not pushing him away. No, she’d curled her fingers, digging them into the muscle, holding him to her.
The sexy, knee-length yellow dress she wore—that with all her soft blond hair made her look like fucking sunshine—was bunched up around her hips, giving him a glimpse of her pale pink underwear. He dropped his gaze to her tattoo, now on full display. It had tormented him since he’d first seen a hint of it, wondering what it looked like, how far it went. A red rose surrounded by leaves and thorns. It wrapped around her upper thigh and disappeared beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties.
Jesus.
He could see the design clearly, could see where it started and finished on her hip, because the fabric covering her wasn’t lace or cotton but something else completely, it was sheer, the kind you could see right through. His iron-hard cock throbbed, tenting the hell out of his shorts.
Fascinated, he watched as he slid his palm back up her smooth, rounded thigh—her pale skin beneath his darker, rougher hand—up to her dress, gently pushing it higher. Giving him a better view.
He brushed his thumb over the vibrant ink, and she sucked in a startled breath. Cole dragged his gaze from his hand, from between her legs.
Jesus, so beautiful. He’d expected to see horror on her face, anger, instead he saw heat. Molten fucking heat, and it was aimed at him.
Her lower lip was swollen and glistening from where she’d been biting it, eyes so full of need he nearly exploded in his goddamn shorts. Holding her gaze, he ground against her, letting her feel just how hot and hard he was for her. “If you don’t tell me to stop, right now, I’m going to fuck you, sweet girl. So hard you’ll feel me for days.”
Her fingers flexed against his sides, digging deeper, making him groan. But then she shook her head. No.
It shouldn’t have been a surprise. But her rejection still cut like a blade. “I need to hear you say it, tell me no.” He needed it from her lips. No way could he walk, not without hearing her say it out loud. Maybe then he could finally let the idea of her go.
But instead of pushing him away, her thighs tightened, pressing into his hips, and she shook her head again. “I don’t want you to stop.”
