Page 135 of Things We Left Behind

He kissed like he’d invented it. And I followed his lead as if I had no choice in the matter.

He dragged his mouth away from mine and swore. “Fuck,” he muttered, glaring down at me.

“Problem?” It came out as a breathless taunt.

“You’re my problem,” he growled.

I shoved at the unyielding chest beneath the crisp button-­down. “If you’re just going to fight with me, I’m going back to the bar.”

I made it exactly two inches in the direction of the door before his hands were on me again. A delicious sense of triumph rolled up my spine. It was the biggest win I’d scored against him in years. His self-­control was—­in my opinion—­infuriating.

This time, he didn’t just pull me to him, he lifted me off the floor and pinned me against the closest wall…withhis body. My feet dangled inches above the carpet as his king-­size erection lodged itself against me, effectively skewering me to the wall like a butterfly in a shadow box.

I was a lust-­filled rag doll, and his casual show of strength had my vagina swooning. He looked at me like he wanted to destroy me. And I loved it. There was no hiding behind a cold, calculating mask now.

The man may have had a poker face, but there was no such thing as a poker dick.

As if to demonstrate, he rolled his hips, thrusting powerfully against me.

I groaned irritably against his mouth. “Ofcourseyou have a big dick.”

“And ofcourseyou’re disappointed by that fact when I’m about to fuck you with it,” he shot back.

I hitched my thighs around his hips as high as my dress would allow. “I’d always thought the whole all-­powerful, shadowy puppet master thing was an overcompensation for a cocktail wiener.”

“Your fucking mouth,” he growled. He used both hands to shove the skirt of my dress up around my hips. I gasped as his erection lodged itself against my pretty, one-­night-­stand panties.

“What about it?”

“It’s why you have to troll bars for unsuspecting men. Why you aren’t dating. Why you’re not married with four kids.” He punctuated each sentence with another bruising kiss.

“Yeah? Well, at least it’s not my personality. You’re stupidly hot and ridiculously rich, and eventhatisn’t enough to keep a girlfriend for longer than a few weeks.” I nipped his lower lip with my teeth and he hissed.

He pulled back a few inches, leaving us connected below the waist. “How would you know that unless you’ve been paying attention?”

He was teasing me, body, mind, and soul, and for the first time, it occurred to me that I might not be up to the challenge.

“I don’t pay attention to anything that involves you,” I insisted. “I hate being bored.”

His exhale was closer to a growl than a sigh. With onehand, he took both my wrists and pinned them over my head. “Goddammit, why are you so fucking small?” He gritted out the words like they physically pained him.

His next kiss was tempered, restrained.

My eyelids popped open. Lucian Rollins was afraid of hurting me. The big, evil asshole was afraid of fucking me too hard with his giant penis.

“Jesus, big guy. I’m petite, not fragile. Get over it.”

“Just because I want you out of my life doesn’t mean I want to hurt you.”

I gripped his waist with my thighs and squeezed. “Either fuck me hard and fast or get out of my room so I can find someone who will. I don’t want to be treated like some glass figurine.”

“You always think you can handle more than you can,” he said, removing his hand from my wrists and curling his fingers into the neckline of my dress.

“And you always think I’m weaker than I am,” I hissed.

With one sharp tug of his fingers, the fabric ripped all the way to my belly button and my breasts spilled free.

“Christ.”