“Hands on the door,” he mumbles against my lips. It’s obvious that he needs to be in control. He’s constantly telling me what to do with my hands. He won’t let me touch him, but he can touch me.

“Is this a power thing for you?” I ask, letting out a gasp as his hand snakes its way around my body and up my shirt again. I still haven’t followed his instructions of putting my hands on the door, but it hasn’t slowed down his lips. So I keep them clutched at my sides.

He doesn’t answer me.

“Are you into that kind of stuff? BDSM? I just think I should know—” His hands cut off my words as he plunges them down the front of my pants and grips my sex in his coarse hands.

“Hands on the door,” he growls again, this time firmer. He rubs my clit roughly, and my hands fly to the door. The pressure from his touch is enough to start a fire in my body. Beneath the pleasure, there’s a hint of pain that only fans the flames. It’s been so long since I have been touched by anyone down there, I can’t stop the way my hips buck, trying to coax his fingers to keep moving.

“Into what?” he asks as he plays between my legs.

I can barely form a sentence. “It’s okay if you are, I just—I think I should…ahh,” I cry out as he hoists me away from the door and tosses me over his shoulder. This is the part where he takes me to his bedroom, and I literally have no idea what’s around the corner. Ezra told me to be careful with him, and this is the opposite of careful. The fear doesn’t cool off the heat in my body...it accelerates it.

But to my shock, he drops me on the couch, and doesn’t pause before moving for the hem of my shirt to pull it over my head. Once I’m sitting in my bra, feeling completely blindsided, he starts to tear my pants down.

I came here for hate sex. I won’t lie to myself about that. There’s a certain level of intimacy I want tonight, which is none at all. Which is why I cannot understand why I reach up and pull his mouth in for a kiss. Kissing is not a part of hate sex.

When my hands touch his cheeks, he yanks his body away.

For a torturously long moment, he stares at me, but I already know what he’s about to say. I could argue with him about the touching stuff or I could get exactly what I came here to get. So before he can utter a word, I put my hands behind my back, shoved between my body at the couch, and when he sees that I’m behaving, he leans in and devours my mouth with his.

As soon as his lips touch mine I remember why I wanted it. Rafe’s kisses are aggressive, yet quiet. When our mouths are joined, I don’t feel his hatred anymore. It’s the only time I don’t feel his hatred, and it’s in that silent, intimate connection that my belly pools with heat.