Page 9 of Hating On Riot

“But not our game, right?”

He doesn’t give me time to answer. He starts counting down, and I’m not scared. I accept Riot’s challenge. If I don’t, he’ll make my life a living hell in our Basis of Human Behavior class, an elective I’m already regretting enrolling in.

Opening my eyes, I yank off my socks and race down the stairs. Over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, I hear footsteps close behind me.

At the bottom of the stairs, I rush into the kitchen, tiptoeing. I find the perfect object to put between Riot and me. I run to the other side of the table and wait. I don’t have to wait long.

Riot comes to a halt. His attention drops from my mouth to my hands resting on the table.

He looks under the table.

“More, Arie.”

“I’m on the tips of my toes. What more do you want?” My standby answer in this game of ours.

“Want me to help?” Slow drawl. Husky tone. Lust-laden.

“Riot.” My legs and arms shake as I keep my weight on my toes. My breathing is unsteady.

“You’re out of shape. You haven’t stood on your toes for a while, have you, babe?”

Babe. My second favorite word from him. He straightens and looks at me like he wants to kiss me from my forehead to my toes. Memories flood my mind. There’s one of us lying on the grass, holding hands. Another of us beneath the stars. We were holding hands then too.

Then there’s the one of him at my back, his arms wrapped around my waist. He’s holding me against the solid strength of his body. I’m balanced on the tips of my toes: the daydreaming ballerina and her dreamy prince.

He only let me go when the heat between us became too much to bear. If we stayed like that any longer, we’d take it further.

A flush heats my face. Dizzy with desire, I grip the table and dig my toes into the wood floor. Riot senses how out of control I’m becoming. He’s remembering those times too.

“Do you want to fly, Arie Kim? I won’t keep you grounded. Not like when we were kids. We’re adults now, and I so want to help you fly.”

I want to. Oh, God, I do. I want to let go and lose control, to forget how our friendship crashed and burned so hot and so bright after that stolen kiss from him.

Struggling to control my building desire for him, I lower my gaze to the table.

Why did I agree to stay with him? Nothing good will come from being near my high school crush and my high school bully. Stray strands of hair fall into my eyes. He takes that as a cue to step into my personal space. Riot grasps the errant strands and tucks them behind my ear. I hold still, the gesture intimate.

“Arie? Sweetheart?”

Sweetheart. It’s better than babe and baby. Groaning, I give in.

“Yes, I want to fly,” but only with him. I’ve only ever wanted him.

Large hands cinch my waist and lift me onto my toes. With his chest pressing against my back, he tips me forward, spreading me across the table, my arms stretched out. He intertwines our fingers and brushes my hair off my neck with his chin. Riot nuzzles my flesh from the spot behind my ear down the column of my neck. At the curve, he lingers.

“Riot.”

“Fly, baby.”

Oh, God, I want to back my ass up into his crotch and grind on his thickness until my body trembles, but I can’t.

I’ll want more, and he’ll later use my moment of weakness to tease and taunt me. Then what? Will he help a different girl fly like he did with Bella when I caught them kissing?

Through my haze of desire, I come down on my heels, untangle our fingers, and slip out of Riot’s grasp.

“We can’t. My brothers, your brothers, there’s too much hate between them. Between us.”

My words have the effect I’m going for. He distances himself, as though he hadn’t just been touching me with his mouth and his hands, and he ticks off the house rules.