Page 78 of Twisted Knight

That’s a first.

“And you don’t get to flaunt a board seat or ownership or anything at me one minute and then not explain yourself the next.”

He laughs. It’s a patronizing sound that echoes off the marble walls of the bathroom.

It infuriates me. It sounds like every laugh Rhett or my father gives to let me know I am less than.

“Fuck you, Holden.” I step forward and poke a finger into his chest.

“Right.” He grins. “Fuck me and the seat at the table I offered and then took back when you refused to work with me.”

What? That’s what that was all about? How dare he … How … The prick.

“Exactly what I said and meant. Fuck you and your games and your half-truths and your innuendos and your—”

From one beat to the next, Holden’s hand is fisted in my hair and his lips are on mine. Ravaging mine. Claiming mine.

It takes a second for the shock to register. For me to realize what is happening.

I struggle against him. Hands pressed against his chest. Head trying to move from side to side.

It takes another second for the assault of desire to take over. For the taste of scotch on his tongue and the dominant demand in his touch to drag me under and take hold of me. For the groan in the back of his throat and the hard length of his body pressed against me to make me feel. For my hands to grab his shirt as the perfect combination of need and greed and want make my body ache with a slow, sweet burn that’s wicked and wanton all at the same time.

And then I snap to.

To the moment. To who’s kissing me. To where we are.

But the draw is just too much. The drug of him too goddamn sweet that sense and reason get buried in the high of him.

In his hands as they rake over my skin.

In the heat of his mouth as it slides its way down my throat to the soft spot that has my body jerking in his hands.

In his fingers as they find their way between my thighs.

In his groan as his hand slides beneath my panties and finds me wet and more than willing for his touch.

In the softening of my body and the widening of my stance as his fingertips find my clit.

The soft mewl that falls from my lips is met with another jarring knock on the bathroom door followed by “Open the fuck up.”

That is what I need to snap to my senses. To realize what I’m doing and who I’m doing it with. To comprehend that Gregory and god knows who else is out there assuming what is going on in here.

“It’s taken. Use the other one,” Holden shouts gruffly at the door as I push back against him with one hand and I reach out to slap him with the other. And the slap isn’t because of the kiss but rather the way he’s making me feel.

Alive.

On fire.

Desperate and wild when everything else in my life, when everyone else, is dull and stagnant.

It’s self-preservation at its worst and embarrassment that it takes him to make me feel this at its best.

He catches my hand mid-swing, his fingers still coated in my arousal, gripping my wrist, and lifts a single brow as he meets my eyes. His chuckle is a low rumble of suggestion and warning.

Both have me aching for him to touch me again.

Both have me struggling to get out of his grip.