Page 92 of Vital Signs

He kissed me, fierce and desperately.

I’d survived Roche. Hunter had survived withdrawal. Hell, he’d come back from the dead. We could survive this too.

Or die trying.

I yanked Hunter throughthe parking lot. I needed to erase Wright's voice, Roche's touch, every memory that wasn't him.

"Misha, slow down," Hunter said, stumbling behind me. "Where the hell are we going?"

I didn't answer. My skin crawled with phantom sensations of Roche's camera and their hands positioning me like a doll.

No. Not again. Never again.

I shoved through the side door, dragging Hunter upstairs and into my bedroom. I locked the door behind us.

"Are we fighting or not?" Hunter asked, face flushed, breathing fast. "Because I'm starting to get mixed signals."

I stalked toward him, stopping inches away to breathe him in. Soap. Cigarettes. Hunter. Real and solid and mine. "Take off your clothes."

His eyebrows shot up. "What?"

"You heard me."

Hunter's confusion morphed into understanding, then hunger. His eyes darkened as he studied my face. "Still pissed at me?"

"Yes."

"Your solution is sex?"

"Also yes."

A slow smile spread across his face. "You want to fuck the anger away."

I stepped closer, my hand shooting out to grab his throat. Not squeezing, just holding. My thumb pressed against his racing pulse. "I want to erase everything but this. Right now."

"Then take what you need," he said, his voice rough against my ear.

He raised his arms, allowing me to yank his shirt roughly over his head. God, he was so sexy. Even after the drugs, the weight loss… It was impossible to keep my hands off of him.

My eyes caught on his DNR tattoo. He caught my wrist and pressed my palm against it. Permission.

I tossed his shirt aside and moved lower. My hands went to his belt, fingers clumsy with renewed urgency as I unbuckled it, unzipped his jeans, and shoved them down his legs.

"Bed," I ordered, pushing against his chest.

Hunter stumbled backward, hitting the mattress and falling onto his back. I climbed on top of him, straddling his hips, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand. His pupils expanded, eyes dark with hunger.

"Fuck, Misha," he breathed. "What's gotten into you?"

"Shut up," I growled, biting his lip as I kissed him hard.

The kiss was rough and claiming, without an ounce of kindness. Copper flooded my mouth as I licked into him. My free hand tangled in his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat. His body bucked beneath me, his cock rock hard against my ass through the thin fabric of his boxers.

I ground down, the friction making us both groan. His wrists strained against my grip, testing my strength rather than truly fighting it. I released him only to tear at my own clothes, buttons flying as I ripped my shirt open.

Hunter's hands flew to my hips, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to leave marks as I rocked against him. "Christ, you're sexy when you're angry."

"I said shut up."