He cocks his head, searching for the truth in my words, in my eyes. And then he grins deviously.
“I can still blow your mind whether I fuck you in a bed or against the window for everyone to see.”
I shake my head as he kisses me tenderly. I know what kind of sex he’s expecting. The kind that says more than I’m just a good fuck. The kind that has feelings and emotion behind it.
“I’m damaged, killer.”
“I am too, huntress.”
He tosses me back onto the bed. His body covers mine before I have a chance to escape. His hips press against mine until I feel his bulging erection pulsing against my sex.
He’s mine.
I’m his.
But being his is as far as this can go.
I push against his chest, and my hips wiggle beneath his pelvis, only causing his hardness to rub against my clit through my clothes, inciting my brain with euphoria and making it harder for me to focus on getting my words out. But I have to—it’s important.
“Don’t make love to me,” I whisper.
The corner of his lip tilts up as if to laugh. “I never make love, huntress. I fuck—hard. I control and sin with the darkest pleasures. I never make love.”
I twist out of his grasp as I knee him in the crotch, springing my escape. I run to the wall, pushing my back against it as Langston groans before standing up and stalking toward me.
“Promise you’ll never love me,” I beg.
He grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. He twists me around until my front hits the wall. There’s no way I can knee him now.
“I could never love you, huntress. You’re a fucking liar. How could I ever love you?”
My eyes cut to his, and I know his words are a lie. I can see it in his amused expression. He can’t promise that he won’t love me.
“Promise me that a part of you will always hate me,” I say, hoping that even if he ends up loving me, the hate will always remain.
He grabs the hem of my dress, his nails clawing up the back of my thigh as he raises it up. They creep around my cotton panties until he dips his fingers inside, pushing between my lips and trying to enter me.
I growl, not ready to let him have control of my body even though he already has control of more than I’m willing to admit, even to myself. My thighs squeeze shut, keeping his fingers locked between my folds.
“Promise,” I demand.
His teeth clamp down on my earlobe until I squeal.
“I promise that a part of me will always hate you.”
He releases my earlobe; I release his fingers.
Then I kick back against the wall, pushing him off me until I have control of my body once again. I run toward him, barreling my body into his open arms. I grab the hem of his shirt and rip the thin fabric in two right up the middle.
He pants hard, his abs contracting with each breath, taunting me with his fitness.
My nails scrape down his front, feeling every ripple on my way to his pants to rip them off his body.
He catches my wrist in my hands, denying my touch until he has what he wants first. His eyes drop to look at my dress, but he can’t rip it until he lets go of my wrists.
He grins, as if he can read my mind.
“You want to play, huntress? Let’s play.”