Page 42 of Vital Signs

His smile could cut glass. "Then stop pretending you don't want this."

"I'm making a choice," I said and set the water aside. More to myself than to him. "Right now, high as I am, I'm choosing this."

"Are you?" he challenged.

"Yeah." I pulled him closer. "So stop pretending you're not exactly what I need right now."

I kissed him hard enough to hurt, hard enough to shut him up, hard enough to make him forget I was supposed to be the one seduced here. Misha made a sound between a growl and a groan, his free hand fisting in my hair.

The kiss turned brutal. My grip tightened, pulling his head back to expose his throat. I bit down on the sensitive skin just hard enough to make him gasp.

"Tell me to stop," I challenged.

Misha bared his teeth at me. "Fucking try it."

He pushed me backward onto the bed, landing heavily on top of me.

"You think the drugs make me safe?" I asked.

"I think they make you slow." He ground down against me, and shame burned through my chest when nothing responded.

I flipped us. One second he was on top, the next Misha's back hit the mattress with me looming over him, hands pinning both his wrists to the bed above his head, knee between his legs.

"There we go." He smiled up at me. "Show me what you've got."

I stared down at him, breathing hard. "You have no idea what you're asking for."

"Then show me." He arched up against the pressure. "Or admit you're too scared."

"Scared?" I laughed, bitter and sharp. "Of you?"

"Of wanting me." He wrapped his legs around my waist, pulling me closer. "I can feel you holding back. Worried you'll break the poor traumatized boy if you're too rough."

The words hit too close. "That's not—"

"Bullshit." He arched up against me, testing my grip. "Everyone treats me like I'm made of glass. Even you, right now, you're being so fucking careful—"

I kissed him hard enough to split his lip. The copper taste bloomed between us as my tongue invaded his mouth, claiming every inch without permission or apology. This was what he'd been pushing for. This was me without the careful control.

When I pulled back, we were both breathing hard. Blood dotted his lower lip.

"Better," he said.

"You're insane."

"And you love it." He reached between us, palmed where my cock should have been responding. Still soft. Misha stroked gently, trying to coax some response, but nothing changed. "Poor loup."

My jaw clenched. "Don't."

"Don't what?" He kept stroking, sympathy replacing the teasing. "It's the drugs, Hunter. Not you."

"I know what it is." But the humiliation bled through anyway. I wanted to be hard for him. Wanted to feel something besides this frustrated half-arousal.

"Hey." He caught my face, made me look at him. "Look at me."

I did, reluctantly.

"Tu me veux tellement," he said softly.