Page 154 of Falling Offsides

“Oh my God, yesss… go get it, hoe,” she yips, I can hear her clapping through the line. “Remember cough and hose.”

I end the call as I step out of the elevator.

The air is hot. Frenetic. So charged, I can’t breathe. I can’t speak. I can only walk to my door, my stare holding Auguste’s.

He says nothing. Not a fucking word.

The calm before the storm personified.

And my hands are shaking so much I can’t get the key in the lock forthe life of me. Auguste’s hot breath is burning in my ear. Deep, raking breaths that are fuzzing everything around me.

Still he says nothing. The silence is killing me. Ratcheting up all my sense into overload when I drop the key and he crouches behind me, that guttural inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale crawling down my body as he picks it up and then stands. Fuck… no… he’s hulking over me. I’m trembling. My heart pounding into my ribs.

Then the door opens and I’m faced with nothing but darkness in front of me and prisoned by Auguste’s suddenly too, too big brawn.

Swallowing down the scorching lump throbbing in my chest I walk inside, following Auguste’s shadow looming over me straight to the kitchen.

Keys skitter onto the granite beside me at the same as a stoney fist yanks the hem of the jersey at my back. There’s no prelude. No warning. Nothing that prepares me for the sudden jolt forward, pining me to the counter as his other hand pulls a sharp knife from the block on the counter. It’s swift. Terrifying. The sound is… jarring and feral and it screams all the things he hasn’t said with the one savage tug through the fabric.

What the knife doesn’t tear, Auguste rips apart with his hands and yanks it off me.

Then he’s gone.

Gone.

I’m completely paralyzed. I can’t feel my legs as the acrid smell of burning smokes from behind me. Black and dangerous.

Pushing off the counter, I turn to be met with a raging fire in my sink and Auguste watching it with a snarl. The knife he used to cut the jersey off me is on the counter beside him, the box of matches is clutched too tightly in his hand.

When he turns to me, I’m rooted to the ground beneath my feet in spite of every purposeful step he takes in my direction.

A heavy hand grips the base of my skull dragging me the rest of the way to him. His thick fingers are knotted in my hair as he pulls me between him and the sink. My back to his front.

His body is hard and corded. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt.

Dangerous. His entire demeanor. Every sharp edge of his body. Each shredded breath.

“Auguste—”

“Watch,” he snaps, cutting me off and pushing my face closer to thefast dwindling fire and the blackened scraps left of the jersey. “Watch and heed the fucking warning, Courtney.”

Oh my God.

I attempt to shake him off, but his arm coils around my waist. His groin pins me to the edge of the sink. Hard and unforgiving—he’s getting off on reigning over me, and fuck…

No. No… no… no…

My body is seeking his out even as I bark at him, “You’re… you’re fucking crazy… deranged.”

“No, Princess… I have boundaries.” His lips are at my ear as each word cuts past his clenched teeth. “I don’t fucking share and I sure as fuck don’t play these weak-ass stupid games.”

I open my mouth to argue but his palm grips the bottom of my face, snapping it shut.

“Listen. That’s all you fucking do right now. Understand?” His hand tightens. “Nod.”

I do, banging the back of my head against his chest in frustration while the lower half of my body has other ideas and ruts into his.

“You’re mine. That’s the beginning and the end of the line that’s drawn. You cross it, you’re gonna know about it.” In one swift maneuver he spins me to face him. One arm still around my waist while the hand that was fisted in my hair, holds my face. “Do you have a problem with that?”