Page 90 of Unwritten Rules (Rules 1)

“No. You won’t be able to take a break when they’re trying to kill you. Can’t you see how important this is? One wrong move, Winter. One, and you’re dead.”

Dragging my feet, I make my way to the door. I can’t be around him when he’s like this.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he calls.

“Outside. I need some air.”

“The fight’s tomorrow. Who knows what could happen then? Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He seizes my arm, stepping in my way.

I scoff. “You want to ask questions? Fine. Here’s one for you. Why the hell do you care so much?”

Only then do I realize my anger has made me step dangerously close to him. His gaze immediately drops to my lips.

Well, shit.

I move away, the heavy tension back to torture me. We all know what happened the last time we were too close. It’s like the closer we get, the harder it is for me to think clearly.

“Because…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he takes a step forward, bringing us back to the position we were in seconds ago. My mind screams to walk away. But my body is refusing. When I find myself locked in his breathtaking gaze, I’m brought back to the moment we shared on the beach. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t need to. His blue eyes say more than a thousand words ever could.

They say, “Push me away. Tell me to stop. Tell me it’s wrong before I run out of self-control.”

I don’t say a word.

And silence is all he needed to hear.

My heart bursts out of my chest when he cups my face in his hands and crashes his lips on mine. I immediately give in to his eager and familiar lips, steadiness a foreign concept to my hammering heart. He kisses me with this fervent need that could drive any girl insane.

> This time is different.

This time, he’s not holding back.

He’s hungry. No, he’s starving. I said this could never happen again just a few hours ago. I should want him to stop. So why…

Why is it the last thing I want?

Our bodies collide as his hands travel from my hair, to my neck, to my waist, unable to stay in the same place for too long.

My brain isn’t strong enough to go up against my desires. My hand tugs at his hair as he backs me up against the wall roughly. I can’t stop a moan from escaping my mouth when he bites my lower lip, his fingers creating a trail from my arm to my collarbone. They stop on my tank top strap and slide the light fabric down my shoulder.

He leans forward, his mouth grazing my clavicle and sending a wave of shivers throughout my entire body. My fingers fall to his shirt. I can’t want him. I can’t want this. But I do.

I really, really do.

Just as I’m about to pull the fabric up…

Knock! Knock!

We jump and pull away like we’ve been caught committing a crime.

“Housekeeping!” a female voice says loudly.

We exchange the most awkward look possible. The “we just came back down to earth after a wild, breathtaking, and extremely hot make-out session and now it’s weird” look. It’s like falling from a cloud and hitting concrete.

Haze clears his throat and fixes his shirt. He is as overwhelmed as I am. I pull my tank top strap up, struggling to regulate my breathing. He answers the door, says something I can’t hear to the maid, and comes back.

“Checkout’s at 11:00. It’s 10:45. That’s their way of telling us to get the hell out.”