Page 11 of Cupid's Arrow

I push myself up on one elbow and stare down at him. His eyes are still hidden. I can’t tell what’s going on in his head. “What are you keeping from me?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he peers up at me through one eye. “Since when do I need to explain myself?”

There’s a short staring match between us. I keep waiting for him to blink, but he doesn’t. What is he hiding?

“You know, it would’ve worked better for you if you’d brushed it off as the two of you being there for each other over the years,” I grit out, my teeth clenched. “Now, you’re basically admitting you’re keeping secrets. You and my brother.”

“Why can’t you drop it? Girls keep stuff between them all the time. Guys don’t get to do that?” He lifts his arm all the way to reach for me. My body leans in on its own without waiting for permission from my brain.

At the last second, I pull away before scooting to the foot of the bed. “I should’ve known better.”

“Better than what?” He sits up with a heavy groan that only turns my frustration into fury. Like this is all too much, and he doesn’t have it in him to handle me—even though he wouldn’t need to handle me if he would only be honest.

What a shame he looks so good right now, the sheet at his waist outlining his dick and reminding me of the fun we could be having if things hadn’t taken this turn. Prying my eyes away isn’t easy, but I do it before snatching my shirt from beneath the bed and pulling it over my head.

I know better than to talk myself in circles. When Arrow doesn’t feel like sharing, that’s all she wrote. To think that stubbornness is normally something I love about him. “Forget it. Thank you for reminding me where I stand.”

“And what does that mean?”

I’m already out the door, storming down the hall to my bedroom. Ben was generous, giving me the big room with the attached bathroom since I’m a girl, and it would be too awkward to share. I wasn’t about to argue since I don’t feel like going back to the old days when there were no such luxuries.

The bright sunshine gleaming off the white bedspread and pillows is the opposite of the way I feel inside. Nothing can touch the darkness churning in my chest.

I’m the only one who actually feels something real. He certainly can’t if he’s able to brush me aside the way he did.

The hot shower spray has nothing on the anger burning me up inside. Anger with him, anger with myself for letting him do this to me. I’m okay to fuck, but if I expect to be treated like somebody worth taking seriously? Oh, perish the thought.

And even with rage burning a hole through me, my heart skips a beat when the bathroom door opens. I turn my back to it, pretending I didn’t hear.Don’t let him talk his way out of this.

I want him to. That’s the problem. I’m angry and deserve to be, but my need for him is stronger than any anger. Losing him for six months was like losing part of myself. I can’t deny how deep my feelings run.

“Hey.” He opens the glass door, letting in cool air that makes me shiver as he steps into the shower without being invited. He knows better than to think he needs an invitation.

“I don’t remember saying I wanted company.”

“Don’t be like this.” His big, calloused hands cover my shoulders. There’s no resisting him when he starts turning me around to face him. “I have my reasons for what I do. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

His fingers dig into my muscles, massaging them as he pulls me closer. “I didn’t mean to make you mad, though. Even if you’re hot as fuck when you get all worked up and flushed and all.”

“Shut up,” I grunt while trying not to giggle. “You can’t get off that easy.”

“Oh, little girl.” He sighs, his hands sliding down my back and setting off tiny explosions like fireworks that run down my spine before heating my core. “When it comes to you, getting off is easy. That’s what you do to me.”

He knows what to say to break down my defenses—and any little bit of resistance left is dissolved by the way he caresses my back. By the time his fingers graze the curve of my ass, my legs are weaker than my resolve, and there’s nothing I want more than to give myself to him again.

When he pushes me against the wall, I go with it, meeting his kiss when he covers my mouth with his. The hard, throbbing length between us slides over my wet skin, and I deliberately rub against it.

His moan is captured by my mouth. It rumbles through me, vibrations spreading until they leave desire pooling in my core. My pussy is so hot and swollen it hurts. Only he can make the pain go away.

He breaks the kiss so his lips can travel to my jaw and set my skin on fire. Even the water hitting us can’t put out the blaze he’s set. “I need you,” he pants into my ear while his erection rubs against my stomach. There’s something helpless in him that I can’t help but respond to. “I need to be deep inside you.”

That’s where I need him, where it’s hot and wet and aching and driving me crazy. “Take me,” I urge, almost sobbing. “Please. Fuck me again.”

He doesn’t say a word, lifting me off my feet without warning. My back slides along the tile until he holds me in place with his muscular body and wraps my legs around his waist.

“Fuck me,” I beg while gripping his shoulders. His breath fans across my face, fast and hot, while he guides himself to my quivering hole.

All it takes is a roll of his hips, and he’s inside me, letting me lower myself down his length. So big, like the rest of him, stretching me. It hurts so good, only for a second, when pleasure washes the pain away.

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