Page 246 of Starside

And the way he’s looking at me … he means it.

He hates me the same way I hate him. He hates that this feels so good. He hates that we both know it. Because it’s undeniable. This fire, flaming, raging between us is undeniable.

“I hate you too,” I say, breathless, meaning it in all the same ways.

We glare at each other as he lifts my hips and takes me deeper, eyes widening, mouths tightening, neither wanting to break first. Neither wanting to admit anything other than hatred.

Then his gaze suddenly falters. He looks down and stops for just a moment. I see the surprise flicker over him and trace his line of sight. He’s looking at my marks.

The sensitive silver markings along my skin are gleaming brighter than they ever have before.

His fingers dig into my hips. He rips his gaze from my markings and lifts my other leg. My ankles lock behind him.

And he fucks me like he hates me. Like he hates this. Like he hates that he’s uttering a string of curses into the crown of my head. His movements are getting more desperate, rougher, hitting a place that makes me bite my lip, heating my blood until it’s boiling.

Everything in this world has always seemed so limited, but this feeling, this pleasure, this fullness seems endless.

Until he slams into me one final time, and the pleasure crests and shatters. Together. We shatter together, our gazes locked, until he closes his eyes sharply and curses so loudly, it echoes through the cave.

The cave. I almost forgot where we were. How we got here. Who, exactly, I was doing this with.

His eyes open again. We’re staring at each other, both panting, chests meeting. We’re waiting for who is going to make the next move.

Embarrassment and shame sink through me. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this. I feel so raw. So exposed. And he’s never going to let me forget it. I open my mouth, and Harlan Raker does the last thing I would ever expect—

He kisses me. His lips crash against mine, and I gasp, then melt as his tongue traces my parted lips. It’s not gentle. It’s punishing, the way he kisses me, like he wants to swallow my breaths and words and protests. Like he didn’t just tell me he hates me. Like he didn’t say, days before, that this very act is more intimate than having sex and that he would never allow someone to get that close to him. He’s doing it now. Very thoroughly. He’s biting my bottom lip so hard he’s drawing blood, and then he’s licking that too, and he’s stroking my teeth and the top of my mouth, like he’s trying to taste and savor every single inch of me.

He’s still hard inside me.

I start to move on him greedily, the ache building again, and he doesn’t hesitate. He starts to take me with long, brutal strokes, matching the pace of his tongue in my mouth, and I’m on fire. I’m burning.

Heat floods my body, something in my blood calling to his, and this—this is different.

This is us giving up all pretense that we didn’t both want this, need this.

I gasp for air when his lips slip down my neck, licking, sucking, teeth scraping against my pulse. His hand slides between us, and he bites down just as his fingers find my center again, then curses as I tighten around him, a scraping sound leaving my lips.

Then the world tilts. In one smooth movement, he’s standing, and gripping my ass, and then he’s hauling me up against the wall.

The stone is cool and smooth behind my back as he fucks me against it, his mouth still hot against my neck. He takes his time there, on the sensitive place between my neck and shoulder. There’s another sting of teeth, and then my back arches off the wall at a blinding flash of pleasure. He snarls his approval, and then he’s groaning, and I’m whimpering as he takes me deeper and rougher, like he’s still trying to get more of me.

I’m beyond words right now. I’m only panting and insistent movements as my legs wrap around him, heels digging into his back, meeting him stroke for stroke, riding out this pleasure on his cock. He takes me again and again, shifting my hips and changing angles, each thrust tightening this coil of need within me, until it’s wound almost painfully tight.

“Harlan,” I say, my voice a ragged plea, and his hand moves between us. With a single brush of his callused thumb, my body bows off the wall as my world shatters into a thousand glimmering steel pieces. I gasp and then his mouth is on mine again, claiming it, swallowing every pant and cry, and I cling to him as he takes me through every shuddering wave, and then again, like he’s trying to wring every bit of pleasure from my body.

It’s still not enough. Not even close. “I need—”

“I know what you need,” he says, and then my feet hit the ground, and he’s spinning me and pressing me against the cold wall, and lifting me to my toes by my hips, and filling me and—

“Fucking gods, Raker,” I cry out against the wall as he takes me hard and fast.

One of his massive hands curls around the back of my head, pressing my cheek to the stone.

“No. Fucking me, Aris. Only me.”

And then he fucks me harder, like he’s trying to mark me, trying to claim me, and I arch my hips back and meet his every stroke, doing the same.

This. This is what I’ve needed for weeks—the desires I couldn’t even put into words. A pleasure I didn’t even know was possible. This hatred between us has blurred and burned into something far more complicated, endless duels that have all led to this.