“Came to watch you play, but I got to watch something entirely different just now. I clearly remember that I told you to lose her, didn’t I?”
He tries to push my hand away, but at this point, it’d be much easier to kill me than make me release him. I steal a look at the fingers of his left hand, and all five of them are covered in Band-Aids. He wouldn’t tell me how he hurt them, no matter how many times I asked, but it’s good they’re healing.
“Nikolai…” His tone isn’t as biting as usual. If anything, it’s imploring, begging, frightened. “You need to go. The manager will have a meeting with us in a few and I can’t…”
“You can’t what? You can’t have him see you being crowded into a corner by another guy? Does that scare you, almighty King?”
“Fuck you,” he sneers, the words rolling off my skin like an aphrodisiac.
“You know it turns me on when you talk like that.”
His eyes widen just the slightest and he pushes at my chest. This time, the roles are reversed and I’m wearing a T-shirt while he’s half naked.
When I make no move to give him an inch, he releases a long, tortured exhale. “Just…go.”
“Tell me why you’re still with the bimbo and I might.”
A frown appears between his thick brows and I can see the rage burning hot behind his usually cold eyes.
Brandon King is the epitome of a nice guy. All prim, proper, and kind. He smiles at everyone’s jokes, no matter how corny they are. Checks on the people around him to make sure they’re okay.
He plays lacrosse. Loves his afternoon tea. Volunteers at a fucking animal shelter on the weekends. Donates his paintings to various charities. Participates in marathons for multiple causes. Runs for women’s rights. Runs for cancer. Runs for mental health awareness. Runs for abused animals. Runs for climate change.
Let’s say he runs for everything. Tell him to run for a poor worm trapped underground and he’ll be all over that shit.
But here’s the thing that I’ve suspected for some time. It’s an image. I’m not saying he doesn’t care about all of those causes, but he’s using his goody-two-shoes personality as camouflage. A crutch.
He’s repressing, fighting, and struggling.
Against what? I’m not sure.
It’s why I go fucking feral whenever he slips out of his self-imposed shackles and lets his true self show through.
He’s still an asshole, but at least he’s not putting on a fake front.
At least I get to see the real him.
Like right now.
“Why I’m still with her is none of your business. I am none of your fucking business, Nikolai. What happened that night was because I was wasted. You said I could blame you, so this is me blaming you and telling you to leave me the hell alone.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Are you a fucking masochist?”
“Not usually, no. In fact, some might say I’m the exact opposite, but I’m ready to wait for you to come to your senses.”
“Have you heard a word I’ve said? I want nothing to do with you, damn it.”
“Say that again and mean it.” My mouth gets so close to his, I can smell the notes of musk and mint rushing from his lips in fractured breaths. “Unless…you can’t?”
He glares down at me, and there’s so much heat beneath that coral blue of his eyes, but he doesn’t push me.
Not even once.
Bran might lash out, but my mere nearness is causing him a shortage of breath. His chest rises and falls in a quick rhythm.
This must be why he was anal about keeping some distance between us when we were running. He knew that if I got close, it would be game over for him.
So I press my chest to his. Firm muscles glue to mine and the thud of his heartbeat slams and mixes with my own.
What the fuck is this man doing to me?
Why on earth can’t I keep my hands off him? Does he have witch blood? Is he made of fucking drugs?
“You’re a fucking nightmare,” he mutters, his throat working beneath my fingers.
“Your nightmare.”
“I hate you.”
“I don’t.”
“You’re fucking crazy.”
“About you,” I whisper against his lips and claim them with a guttural moan.
He doesn’t push away. He certainly does not turn his face or look like he’s uncomfortable with the attention.
In fact, the exact opposite happens.
His lashes flutter over his cheeks as he groans, and I eat that sound the fuck up. I eat him the fuck up.
I swallow him whole, but most of all, I hurt him. Teeth clashing, tongues swirling, and lips chasing.
God-fucking-damn-it.
I’ve been fantasizing about his taste since last week. Every morning, noon, and night. Every goddamn second of every fucking day, all I wanted was to have a taste again.
But I didn’t want to freak him out or send him running for the hills. I sure as hell don’t give two flying fucks about that possibility right now, though.
I soak him all in, exploring, feasting, absolutely drowning in his fucking mouth.
He tastes of honey, mint, and pending fucking addiction.
I twirl my tongue against his and I’m rewarded with his hard nips. Lotus flower kisses me as thoroughly as I kiss him, his fingers tugging on the bottom of my T-shirt to keep me glued to his naked torso.
I roll his bottom lip between my teeth and nibble on the skin until he’s whimpering, shuddering, and fucking shaking against me.
Give me more.
More.
Fucking more.
I shove my raging erection against his shorts and sure enough, he’s hard.
For me.
Again.
Hello, Satan. Is this heaven in hell? Because I could stay here forever.
“You’re so fucking turned on for someone who claims he wants nothing to do with me,” I speak against his red, swollen lips. “You’re not drunk now, either.”
“Stop touching me…” he breathes out even as his mouth seems to chase mine. “I would’ve gotten this way for anyone. It’s called a physical reaction.”
This fucking asshole. I swear he’s asking to be sucker punched.
I slide my tongue down his neck and bite his Adam’s apple, hard, then suck just as savagely, giving him back the hickey he hid for a whole week.
“Stop it…” He grunts, shoving his elbow against my chest.
Only, he puts no actual strength behind it.
And I’m not done.
I’m certainly not listening.
I trail a path of bites down to where his shoulder meets his neck, collarbone, and chest, then I scrape my teeth on his nipples.
He spits out the most erotic moan I ever heard, and I jam two of my fingers in his mouth, then spread them against his tongue.
I need him to stop fucking talking and ruining every moment with his damn mouth.
My tongue swirls around his light-brown areola, then I tug the nipple between my teeth, sucking and biting until all I hear are the muffled noises spilling from his stuffed mouth.
“You like this, don’t you?” I move to the other nipple, sucking the skin around it, leaving a huge hickey before I bite down on the little bud. “You look perfect marked by me. My own piece of fucking art.”
One of his hands is on my shoulder, pushing me away, but the other one is in my hair, pulling me close.
He’s a fucking conundrum, my lotus flower, and I can’t wait to break him into fucking pieces.
His body is flinching away from me, but his tongue swirls around my fingers, and his teeth bite down whenever I nibble on his nipple.
I’m so drunk on him and his taste. So addicted to how responsive he is.
I can’t get fucking enough.
Not after one lick or two or a thousand. I want to throw him down and feast on him properly. I want to watch him shudder and whine and moan as I kiss every inch of his gorgeous skin.
I doubt he’d be thrilled with that idea, so I’ll take what I can get.
My mouth leaves bites and marks all over his chest before I slide my tongue back to his jaw.
“You taste like my new favorite addiction, baby.”
“Mmmff…mmm…umph…” he whines against my fingers and I remove them, then jam them in my own mouth, groaning at the taste of him.
He watches me with dark eyes, his brows dipping, his chest rising and falling in an insane rhythm.
But then he opens his damn fucking mouth. “Go away…please.”
I crash my lips against his. “Shut.” Kiss. “The.” Lick. “Fuck.” Bite. “Up.”
He moans, the cracks in his armor growing wider and deeper, and I smash through them one by each fucking one.
I’ll feast on him so thoroughly, he’ll never find a way out.
I thrust my aching cock against his and whisper, “I’m so going to jerk off to thoughts of all the dirty things I want to do to you.”
He shudders, and I swear I feel his cock thickening. His eyelids definitely grow heavy. He has this look of complete confusion and utter abandon. Such a fucking enigma. I want to own him.
Pull him apart.
Fucking destroy him.
I steal his lips again and we grunt at the same time as my tongue shoves its way inside, claiming his. Chaining him to me. Even temporarily.
I need more.
More.
Fucking more.
A commotion comes from the locker room and I hear someone ask, “Has anyone seen King?”
He goes completely still and I can feel his muscles tightening. When I wrench my lips from his bruised ones, his face is stone cold.
Panic flashes in the depths of his irises and he looks like he’s on the verge of collapsing. He stares at his feet, his shoulders crowding with tension.
What the fuck…
“Hey.” I tap his cheek with the back of my fingers and he blinks up at me. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I…”
“Hey…breathe.”