Out of nowhere, he started talking again. That hot tongue like a fucking fire iron on my skin. “You’re defensive, assume the worst and don’t give people the benefit of the doubt. Still I hate that I had to be a reason for you to go to a bad place, or to think for even a second, I’m not crazy about you.” I tried to pull back, but that dirty low-down playing fucker literally grabbed me by the balls.

I gasped, as he lifted onto his tiptoes, so that we were eye to eye. “Yeah, I said it. What are you going to do about it?”

I had my arms stretched over him, covering him completely, and feeling wild. “I don’t know, Easton. You’re the one with my dick in your hand.”

He sucked on my lip, bringing my head down. His filthy chuckle rumbling between us.

“I think we need to continue this in private. There’s too much hate-fuck energy happening here, and I don’t want to get arrested when I have a jury out deliberating.”

I had to laugh, because this motherfucker really had my number. “So is this how you do it? Get people so addled that they do what you want.”

That feline smile he gave me was new and completely devastating, and fuck if I could walk away.

“You tell me. Are we good?”

“Like I can stay mad with you sucking on my lip and working my dick like that.” He gave me that shameless laugh that kept me all tripped up on him. Without saying a word, I pushed off the wall and pulled him up the street to our building.

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Patrice

We walked into Easton’s house in silence, but the tension from the last hour had turned into something else. That conversation with his parents had made me feel exposed in ways that I had to take time to process. But when Easton wrapped one arm around my neck and slid the other one into my briefs, all thought flew out of my mind, and my life’s purpose became how fast I could get him out of all these fucking clothes.

“Ungh, I want it.” He moaned into my ear, as he wrapped his hand around my dick.

I had to take a couple of deep breaths, before I could even respond. “Baby, the sounds you make.”

He gasped again, his eyelids flickering open. His pupils were blown out and he looked starved. “Why is it that I go a little crazy when you call me baby?” he asked, sounding legitimately surprised. “I usually hate endearments or cute nicknames. But whenever that comes out of your mouth, I’m caught hedging between melting into a puddle and begging you to fuck me.”

I shook my head and laughed, as puzzled as he was. I brought his mouth to mine again and let the bruising kiss be my answer.