Page 3 of Vicious Butterfly
But he proves me wrong. A mammoth hand grabs me from underneath my jaw, and it doesn’t have a problem cupping the whole side of my face in its iron grip. I don’t back down, sneering, every bone in my body screaming with challenge.Come on, do your fucking worst, you goddamn sasquatch.
He might kill me, but I don’t even care if he does. My body crackles with electricity as his tightens with unspent rage.
And then something else happens.
Arousal so hot it’s liquefying races through my veins. It’s almost too much.
Pulling in a sharp breath, I lick my lips, but fuck if I don’t catch the moment it hits him, too. A tight hitch of breath. He wants me as badly as I want him. And he doesn’tlikethat he wants me. I don’t know how I know it, but I can taste it in the air.
We breathe, ragged and in sync, for several long seconds as the cool air finds the gaps in my suit, clashing with the heat blazing over my skin. There are scents of pine and petrichor, winding their way into my nostrils, and when I pull enough air in, I can smell him. The faint salt of skin, something dark, dangerous, and maybe just a tad bitter. Nothing sharp or sweet, just something unmistakably male.
“I know who you are. Ryan Savage. North Point’s hockey captain,” he says. “But you don’t know who I am, do you? Don’t pay attention to anything but your own reflection in the ice, I’d bet.”
I don’t answer that. He can think whatever the fuck he wants.
“You fucking asshole.” He squeezes my face tighter, and I grit my teeth. “I pay attention to the ice, because I only care about the fucking game. You’re a lowbrow coach. How did you merit an invite to this?”
Only there’s nothing lowbrow about him. I mostly want to get under his skin, but I wouldn’t mind knowing how he got in. Not that I believe for a second he’ll tell me.
Using my face as a leash, he drags me, then pushes, backing me into a tree. For some reason, I let him. I could fight him—it’s not like I’m not big enough to do any damage—but the way he can manhandle me so easily does something to me.
Is his cock as hard as mine is? Is his heart a half-swallowed lump in his throat? Doubtful on both counts, but this whole encounter is a wild delusion, so why not keep that energy up?
“I guess I can see why you’d be so distracted,” he says, twisting my face to the side, rubbing his solid jaw against mine. My breath hitches. “You’re pretty. Like a doll.”
“A doll? Fuck y—ahh!” His fingers poke into the tender spots along my jaw. “I’m not a fucking doll, jackass.”
“A doll,” he insists, carrying on through gritted teeth, “like the one I had when I was a kid, with the blinking eyes and long lashes.”
Okay, what? Is he for real? What’s wrong with him?
Whatever. Anyway, that’s just fucking absurd. I’m a six-foot brick house. The idea that anything about me could be doll-like is laughable. And something he said is way more intriguing.
“Youhad a doll?”
“Of course. Everyone should have a pretty doll.” The asshole’s still talking about me, isn’t he? He releases my face, trailing his hand down my neck. “I wasn’t very nice to my doll.”
Is that supposed to be a warning? Consider me warned. Consider me officially ignoring the warning. Tate doesn’t have to be nice to me. I’d like it better if he weren’t. I’ve never fucked for love, or even like. I don’t plan to start now.
His lips press to my pulse point as if he can’t help himself. It should be enough to make me forget about dolls; everything else I know is gone, wiped from my mind, but I can’t help my fascination.
“Wh-What did you do to the doll?” I breathe.
“I never let him play with anyone but me.”
“Of course, not. You would be a controlling prick.”
Just like my other insult, he lets it roll off his back, pressing more hot kisses along my neck, leaving a wet trail. My hand curls around the back of his neck, but it’s brief. He peels it away and slams it over my head. My fingers scrape against rough bark.
“No.”
“You get to touch me, but I don’t get to touch you?”
Once again, I don’t get a direct answer, and it’s driving me fucking crazy.
“The difference is I don’t want you to touch me, but you want me to touch you. Unless … do you want me to stop? Say the word, and I’ll stop.”
I wish with all my being that the answer was yes. “No.Please.Don’t you dare stop.”
