Page 29 of A Wreck, You Make Me (Bad Boys of Bardstown #3)

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he keeps growling as he tugs my hair and shakes my head, “I only want you for one thing. That tight hole between your legs. If I wanted a fucking groupie cheerleader, I’d go bang one, yeah?

But here I am, wasting my fucking time with a strawberry-haired girl who doesn’t seem to get that cheering me up isn’t in her job description. Neither is fucking pity.”

I know what he’s doing. I know he’s trying to piss me off so that I stop. So I don’t prick and prod. Even so, that deserves a fucking smack to the face, and I give him that. I slap him and I slap him hard for being such a fucking asshole.

But once wasn’t enough so I go for a second one, but he stops me. He wraps his fingers around my wrist—both wrists, in fact—and pins them to the door by my head. But that doesn’t mean I’m done. I need him to hurt more, so before I can really think about what I’m doing, I go for his neck.

With my teeth.

I bite him on the side of his neck, on his jugular, and God, he tastes of sweat and strawberries.

It’s thick and sweet and I’m about to moan with his taste, especially at the groan he emits, rough and growly, thickened with a curse, when he rips my mouth away.

He yanks my head back so hard and so fast that I bump it on the door, or I would’ve if his hand wasn’t there to cradle the back of my head and protect it from the impact.

He unfortunately doesn’t have that luxury, or any protection from the pain I dealt him, though.

Because his cheeks are flushed from it, from the bite I gave him.

I can even see it. My teeth marks on the side of his neck, glistening with my saliva. A couple of seconds more and I know I would’ve broken skin.

His eyes are blazing as he looks down at me. “You wanna walk out this door with my teeth marks for a necklace, you say the word, baby, yeah? Because next time you bite me, I’ll fucking bite back harder and leave the bruises for the whole world to see.”

“You’re a pig,” I breathe out, licking my lips.

His nostrils flare at my action. “And you’re still fucking clueless.”

“Talk,” I say, my chest heaving.

“What?”

“I want you to talk,” I explain. “To me.”

“What the?—”

“Tell me something,” I cut him off for a change and get up in his face. “Did you hate seeing her here?” He frowns and I keep going, “With your brother? Is that why you kept your back to her the entire time?”

He grates his jaw as a response. Of course, he won’t talk about it.

About her. About how he feels. If he’s so good at hiding things, I bet he’d hate if someone found out the truth about him.

If someone saw him at his most vulnerable.

But as I said to him just now, I don’t care.

I am going to find out the truth about him.

Or at least, force him to see it himself.

“I don’t care about your money,” I tell him, and he narrows his eyes.

“But I’ll take it, if that’s what you want to keep the distance between us.

What I really want is for you to talk to me.

” I lift my chin then, looking up at him belligerently.

“That’s my price. If you want me to be your distraction, that’s what you’ll give me in return. ”

Because honestly, I don’t even know why I was saying no to begin with.

Yes, the money aspect makes it dirty and yes, my secret could ruin things between us.

But again, who cares? If it makes me a whore, then the world can call me a whore.

If he finds out our connection and hates me, I’m fine with that too.

What I’m not fine with is him losing something precious to him because of everything that happened six months ago.

I’m not okay with him losing something he’s worked so hard for, something that he deserves .

His place on the team, his championship trophy.

And if he thinks I can help him with that, then I will. But not only in his way, my way too.

Saying my piece, I yank myself free from his grip and push at his chest. I’m a little surprised that he let me go, but I’m not going to question it.

I need to get away from him right now. Just because I’ve agreed to sleep with him doesn’t mean he’s not an asshole, and I need some distance before I smack him again.

But of course, that’s too much to ask—somehow distance from him is always too much to ask—because just as quickly as he let me go, he grabs my hand back and jerks me over to him.

I go crashing against his hard body, but instead of resting my hands on him, I use them to push at him.

Again, he doesn’t go anywhere, but I don’t care.

“Let me go,” I tell him, keeping the pressure against him.

He’s roving his eyes over my angry features as he rasps, “In a second.”

“ Now ,” I order, glaring up at him. “I don’t want to be around you right now. And I gave you what you wanted, so let me go.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That you’re mine.”

Why did he have to put it like that? Why couldn’t he have said something derogatory or mean, something that would make me want to hit him again? No, instead he looks like my answer could mean the difference between his life and a certain kind of death. That my ‘yes’ could really save him.

I refuse to melt, but I can’t stop my belly from quivering and my lips from whispering, “Yes.”

And then, he has to go ahead and do that.

At my answer, he has to breathe out so long and large that his chest swells, grazing mine even though I’m trying to hold him at a distance, his sweet strawberry scent wafting over me.

Before he leans over and frames my face, his thumbs caressing the apples of my cheeks, his shoulders almost curling over me as he rests his forehead against mine.

And God , closes his eyes for a few seconds.

As if in relief.

In so much relief and gratitude, even, that I have to close mine too. I have to clench mine shut because they sting, my eyes. They burn with emotions that only he can invoke in me.

He flexes his grip on my face, making me open my eyes only to find his already on me. “I was an asshole.”

I swallow, gripping his wrists. “You were.”

He digs his thumb on my cheeks. “You did good, hitting me.”

His praise, as always, hits me right in the center of my belly. “And biting you.”

Something resembling amusement passes over his features before he gets serious. “Yeah. It’s just…”

“Just what?’

He takes a moment to think, or maybe simply to decide whether to say it or not. “My head’s all fucked up right now.”

This may be the first time he’s admitted it out loud to someone. In fact, I know it is but I don’t make a big deal about it except show him acceptance. “I know.”

His jaw clenches for a bit before he says, “If I was less of a toxic fucking asshole, I’d let you go, but I…” He tightens his hold around me as if he’s afraid I’ll push him away. “I can’t. I won’t.”

Something even more painful clenches in my chest. “Well, good thing we know only a strawberry can cut through your poison.”

His lips twitch and he drops his gaze down to my mouth and I get the same feeling I did that night. Six months ago. I feel like he’s going to kiss me. And shouldn’t we kiss before everything? In fact, we should have kissed by now. How is it that we haven’t?

But all he does is whisper, “Tomorrow.” I lick my lips and he keeps going, staring at my mouth. “After your shift, you’re coming with me.”