Page 39 of Scars He Gave Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 2)

“Corrie—”

“No.” Slight headshake. Terse tone. “This is the last normal thing I have left in my life. Don’t ruin it for me.” Her voice wavers but she’s glaring.

Anyone walking past wouldn’t recognize her anger. She’s not at all stiff in the way she’s standing or carrying herself, but I know. Not only do we have history, but being apart for years hasn’t affected my ability to read her—the tic in her jaw, the fire blazing behind her eyes, the tight line she’s pulled her lips into that may look like a smile but is anything but.

The metal doors whoosh open, and I motion her inside ahead of me, thinking we’ll be able to talk or touch, but the car is full when we crowd in. Plus, she’s still not looking at me, and I’m on alert since I already know this building is almost as unsafe as having her stand outside in the wide open with a sign that says,“Dear Italians, please kidnap me.”

A woman with a pink purse and long blonde hair, built like a stick, scoots closer to me. “Hi. I’m Kameron.” It comes with a shoulder shimmy and the corner of her lip pulled between her teeth.

Corrie glances at me—glares, actually—and I clear my throat. She’s jealous.

Instead of gloating, I drop a hand on her shoulder and wink. She doesn’t jerk away, and Kameron slides back to the spot she started in.

“Staking your claim?” I lean down to whisper so only Corrie hears me. Instead of smiling up at me or giving me a flirty little nod, she clears her throat and shifts away.

I chuckle. She’s trying so hard not to let me in. But we both know I’ve discovered her weakness. I know how to make her ache for me. I know everything I need to know to make her want me. It usually starts with a whisper and builds until she’s screaming my name and bucking like a bronco as I kiss between her thighs.

Now, all I want to do is clear this elevator and take her on our own private ride. Before I can move to press my swollen manhood against her, the doors slide open. We pour out into the lobby. She’s three steps ahead of me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to run to catch up.

Part of me wants to do it anyways, though. Like I’m still the lovesick teenager I used to be.

She leads me into a coffee shop on the lower floor of her building. I wait in line behind her. I’m having a harder than expected time keeping my head on straight.

Part of it is the scent of her. The way she looks. How she holds herself. It’s intoxicating.Sexy. I want to find a place where I can bend her over and drive into her until she doesn’t have defenses left strong enough to keep pretending to resist me.

When we get up to the front, I watch how the barista—a guy who’s probably not even out of college yet—responds to her. There’s no denying she’s a beauty—built like a porn-star princess with an ass like a melon and a smile that lights up the room. Not to mention those pouty fucking lips that look so good wrapped around my dick. If this chump looks at her one more time with that littlecome-get-megrin under his designer stubble, I’m going to go across the counter and kick his ass.

She’s beautiful and he knows it. I know it. Everyone who’s ever met or even seen her knows it. I hand him cash to pay for our drinks.

Corrie turns and scowls. “I’m perfectly capable of paying for my own drink.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t. I’m well aware you can afford a six-dollar cup of whatever the fuck is.” It sure as hell isn’t coffee. Coffee doesn’t froth, doesn’t smell like an overpriced candle.

“I wanted to buy it,” she snaps.

She tosses her head like an angry lioness. The motion is probably supposed to stress her anger, but it only draws my eye back to her delicious breasts. Between that, the flush in her cheeks, and throb of her pulse just under her jaw, it seems like my dick will remain rock hard for the foreseeable future.

My shrug of a reply is casual. The knot in my gut when I look at her is anything but that.

“Christ, you’re an asshole sometimes,” she says. “You never did know how to use your words. All you ever do is shrug this, shrug that.”

I shift to relieve the pressure building behind my zipper as we move to take a seat at a table in the corner. We probably have to have a conversation before she’ll let me take her into the bathroom and work out this tension between us. So, I take a quiet, deep breath and count to ten, then add on another ten when I’m still hard enough to hammer nails with this log between my legs.

She’s giving me the silent treatment, looking anywhere but at me. I swear to God, I’m going to turn her over my knee and make sure she knows how I feel about that. I understand that she may not like what I’m doing to her life, but that doesn’t mean she gets to act like a brat. I’m doing this for her sake.

“I don’t know how to use my words, Corrie?” I ask as I lean in. I want her to feel what I’m saying. I want it to make her skin prickle. “I’d say I know plenty. I know everything about you, for starters.”

“You don’t know shit,” she answers at once. Her cheeks flush and she’s too slow turning away so I see it. I see the effect I have on her.

“I know what your skin feels like against mine. I know how you taste on my tongue.”

Her blink is a little long, and the gulp is just a bonus for me.

“And I know all about that surprised, sleepy smile when I wake you up by licking your pussy.” What I’ve meant to do to her, I’ve done to myself. It’s shocking but evident. No point in trying to hide it anymore.

“Tommy …” She’s breathless. Excited. Then angry. She moves away. “Stop it.” Her tone is almost as hard as my cock. We both need to release the mounting pressure.

But we’re in a coffee shop, and she won’t look at me now.

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