I hate his smug attitude and his cruel tone. I hate the way he talks to me and the way he treats me. I hate everything about him, but right now, I’d let him lift my skirt and have his way with me.

He’s certainly not having trouble picking up the vibe I’m putting out there because instead of letting go of my throat, he leans in. His breath is on my cheeks as his other hand trails a feather-light pathway down my body.

“Hands behind your back,” he growls, his voice so deep it sends chills down my spine. Without hesitation, I obey and shove my hands between my body and the door.

Instantly, I’m turned on even more. The feeling of being so vulnerable, with my body exposed to his touch makes me shiver with excitement. I’ve never really been into the tied-up stuff, but already I can see the appeal. My heart is hammering in my chest.

His hand floats away from my throat and he places it against the door, caging me in. His lips close in on the space beneath my ear, but instead of kissing me, he takes a gentle bite of my skin. Moisture pools between my legs.

When I feel the rough grip of his other hand on my hip, I realize that I’m putting myself in the hands of my own enemy. No matter what he said about me being his family, the love between us is gone. He’s being a little rough on purpose, bringing me just enough pain to remind me that he hates me. Somehow, that realization only intensifies my arousal. It’s like I want him to hurt me.

A high-pitched whine escapes my lips when I feel his cool breath on the wet skin of my neck. My hands stay obediently behind my back, even when he lifts my knee to position himself between my legs, grinding his hips roughly against mine.

He still hasn’t kissed me, but he keeps up the nibbling on my neck and the rough pinches of the flesh of my ass. My mind is screaming at me to wake up and realize that he’s only teasing me. He’s fucking with my head, but my body refuses to listen. Currently, my body is willing to shed these clothes, drop to my knees, and let him be as rough as he wants to be. In fact, I’m pretty open to him being as rough as he can be—which is the first time I’ve ever felt like that.

“Let’s go in my apartment,” I say in a pant, but he doesn’t respond. The hand he held planted against the door slides down, over my shoulder and brushes my breast over my thin shirt. It doesn’t stop as he reaches the hem and snakes his fingers underneath. Feeling his skin against mine makes me gasp, and I wait for his reaction when he finds out that this backless blouse does not allow for a bra.

Trailing his fingers upward, he reaches my breast and pounces, grinding his hips against me harder as he squeezes my flesh, like an animal feasting on its prey. Suddenly, my shirt is up over my tits, and his lips leave my neck to devour the taut pink buds of my nipples.