Page 89 of Meet Me In The Dark

It’s clear he’s done waiting.

Good.

So am I.

We’re both done pretending this hasn’t been tearing us apart since that night.

He kicks the door shut with his foot, then slams me against it hard enough to make the frame shake. His mouth crashes into mine with force and zero hesitation.

I meet him with the same hunger and frustration.

He bites my bottom lip hard enough to make me gasp, then chases the sound with a kiss that has my whole body trembling.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember the workout we just did and wince.

“Shower,” I pant against his mouth.

“Uh-huh. Got it.” His agreement is a low growlagainst my lips.

We’re still kissing like we want to kill each other when we reach the bathroom. He fumbles with the nozzles one-handed until the shower turns on.

When he sets me down, it’s only to tear the clothes from my body.

My hoodie is yanked over my head so fast I stumble, but he catches me, pulling my sports bra up and off before I can regain my footing.

In the next breath, he’s on his knees, grabbing my leggings and underwear in one handful and dragging them down my legs. The cool air hits my bare skin, followed immediately by the heat of his mouth. He kisses just above my hip, then lower, along the inside of my thigh.

“I think about this pussy every goddamn day,” he mutters against my skin. “You know that?”

He sounds… angry.

With me. With himself. I can’t tell.

My mouth opens to reply, but all that comes out is a helpless moan.

He glances up. “That’s what I thought.”

He stands in one smooth motion, peeling his shirt off with one hand, then shoving his sweatpants and boxers down in the same rough pull.

The sight of him—every inch of muscle and hard lines—makes my pulse stumble, but he doesn’t let me linger. Before I can take him in, he’s hauling me into the shower.

The water hits my back, scalding and perfect, but it’s nothing compared to the heat rolling off him.

He slams me against the tile, one arm braced beside my head, the other sliding between us like he’s claiming what’s his.

And maybe he is.

“You’re soaked.”

“No shit.”

His eyes lift. “Watch your mouth.”

“Make me.”

Two fingers slam into me, and I gasp as my head falls back against the tile. My nails dig into his biceps, searching for something solid as my body strains against the onslaught.

That familiar white-hot flame blooms low in my belly.