Page 50 of Playing Dirty

The tension zapping between us like an electrical current takes me straight back to that night. To the steam floating off the water around us, to the intensity of his stare, to the way his body felt pressed to mine.

To the inexplicable desire that got us in this mess to begin with.

And just like that night, I snap.

With a single step forward, I close the distance between our mouths with a searing kiss. One full of fear and confusion and frustration, but it still feels so fucking right.

His hand wraps around the back of my neck instantly, almost as if he was expecting me to cave to my desire for him, and the other slides around my waist to pull me flush against him. Every atom of my being lights up like a stadium at night the moment I can feel his hard, muscled body aligning with mine, and I realize…

This.

I wantthis.

His anger and aggression when he fights me back. The addictive, wicked way he takes control or puts me in my place. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the first time I felt his lips and body pressed to mine; the piece of forbidden fruit I’ve been dying to taste again.

But just like that night, it’s all too fleeting—at least it feels that way. The only difference this time is it’s Madden who pulls away first, breaking the kiss and releasing his hold on me to take a measured step backward.

Our chests heave with effort, trying to catch our breath as we stare at one another. Though,stareis a mild way of putting the way his gaze iscurrently scraping over my face like a thousand razor blades—slicing and carving away at skin, muscle, and bone until it feels like he’s staring straight inside my skull.

Into my fucking soul.

There’s no telling what he sees while he looks at me. His expression gives nothing away, his composure sliding firmly back in place, and after a few moments of silence, I’m almost certain he’s planning to tell me to fuck off or get lost. After the way I’ve been so hot and cold, he’d have every reason to.

Except, he doesn’t.

Instead, he wordlessly glances behind him to the front door, then opens it and drags me inside with him.

Even with wanting him—wanting whatever this crackling energy between us is—I know my nerves are etched into every aspect of my body language when we step into the house. The rigid set of my shoulders, my stiff movements. The way my attention moves around quickly, looking anywhere but at him.

“Roommates?” I finally ask, breaking the silence.

He nods. “Just one, and he’s not home.”

Then he’s reaching for me, taking my hand and leading me past the living room and kitchen until we reach his door at the end of the hall. The tension between us grows to impossible heights once we’re locked behind it, the mixture of anxiety and anticipation creating an electrical charge in the air while I step deeper into his bedroom and look around some more.

“There’s still time to back out,” he tells me.

I’m not sure if the words are for my benefit or his anymore. Especially when I turn, finding him with his back pressed against the door, watching me.

I shake my head and murmur, “I think it’s too late for that.”

There’s a beat of silence, both of us watching one another. Not moving, not speaking. Just breathing, observing. Waiting for the other to finally put us both out of our misery.

And, my God, am I miserable pretending like I’m not as drawn to him as he is to me.

He’s the first to break though, pushing off the door to slowly approach me, closing the distance until there’s barely room to fit a baseball bat between us. Every particle in my body is vibrating when he reaches for me, one hand landing on my waist, the other slipping around the back of my neck. His fingers skim along my waistband, sliding under my shirt to lightly brush the skin along my hip.

It’s electric, his skin on mine. A shot of adrenaline straight to my heart.

“If we do this, there needs to be rules,” he whispers, his head dropping to keep our gazes locked. “The first being that you don’t get to just disappear again. We have more than just ourselves to think about.”

Is it the smartest thing to bring up our parents before we strip naked? Probably not. But it does nothing to douse the fire building inside me, and from the lust burning in his gaze like a raging inferno, he’s in the same position.

“Okay,” I agree, unable to stop my attention from darting between his eyes and lips. “You have my word.”

He shakes his head, as if to drive his point home. “I mean it, Theo. Even if this is just a one-time thing, we still have to coexist. Even if it’s awkward, even if we hate ourselves and realize too late that this is a massive mistake, we’re tied to each other.”

I nod, no hesitation or wavering, before whispering another soft, “Okay.”