Beneath These Scars (Beneath #4)(18)

“Give it to me, Yve. Let me hear you.”

“Oh my God.”

I pressed down harder on her clit.

“Titan!” Yve screamed as her muscles spasmed around me and she shuddered beneath me, her fingers gripping the far edge of the countertop.

“That works for me,” I said, and then I let go. My own roar of triumph bounced off the high ceiling. My hips continued to pump of their own volition. She’d stolen my control, ripped an orgasm straight from my balls.

As soon as I finished, Yve shifted beneath me. I stepped back, sliding from her body and promising myself it wouldn’t be long before I was back inside her.

This woman pushed all my buttons, taunted me, challenged me, mocked me. And the perverse son of a bitch that I was, I wanted more.

Yve slipped out from between me and the countertop, grabbed the robe off the floor, and shoved her shaking arms into the sleeves. Watching her, I rid myself of the condom, zipped my pants, and noted her heaving chest, wondering what she’d say next. I didn’t have to wait long.

“I . . . I have to go.”

“You need to eat,” I reminded her.

She turned to the door, and my first instinct was to reach out and grab her hand to stop her, but her reaction from earlier in the conservatory surfaced vividly. Someone had hit her—that much was clear. I was determined to hear the whole story where that was concerned. I might be a prick, but I would rip a man’s hands off if he raised them against a woman.

“Yve, stop.”





I FROZE AT THE COMMANDING tone of his voice. What the hell had I just done? I mean, beyond letting Lucas Titan bend me over and bang me like a cheap screen door on his kitchen counter.

Classy.

That’s exactly what I was.

My inner muscles clenched in protest; apparently they didn’t give a crap about whether I was classy or not. My body wanted more. That it was a problem of epic proportions wouldn’t be the understatement of the century.

Still motionless, I debated whether I should turn and face him, but decided instead that I’d wait to see what he said next.

Thirty seconds of awkward silence ticked by. I knew, because I counted. Finally he spoke.

“Sit. Eat. I’ll leave you alone.”

My stomach growled again, the traitor, and I squeezed my eyes shut. For the record, the awkwardness after hate-f*cking on a kitchen countertop hugely outweighed the awkwardness after a drunken one-night stand. There was nothing to do but brazen it out.

Chin lifted, I spun, hoping I looked remotely composed. “You don’t have to leave. After all, it’s your house.”

Avoiding his intense eyes, I grimaced at the unappetizing hummus. No thank you, Mr. Titan. But at least the flatbread would be decent. I reached for it, bypassing the round container. From the corner of my eye, I could see Titan’s gaze tracking my movements.

“Not a fan of hummus?”

I shook my head, opting not to speak with my mouth full. Mama would be so proud. The mocking, throwaway thought skidded to a halt in my brain.

I was sitting in a billionaire’s kitchen. I’d just let him—no, begged him—to screw me.

No, Mama wouldn’t be proud; she’d wonder why I’d done it for free. Shame coursed through me at the realization that I was f*cking another rich man. I’d made that mistake before, and look how that had ended. Would I never learn?

Every bit of moisture leached from my mouth, and I struggled to swallow the cracker as I stood. “You know what? I’m not really hungry. Thanks.”

Titan’s expression shuttered. I had no idea what he’d say. The man was as unpredictable as lightning strikes, and probably just as destructive.

“Did Levi show you a guest room?”

Good. I supposed that meant this awkwardness was coming to an end sooner rather than later.

“No. He just gave me the code and told me to make myself at home.”

Titan barked out a harsh laugh. “Not surprising.”

My curiosity got the better of me, and instead of running for the door, I asked, “Why does your brother work in my store?”

The word “my” struck me in the gut as soon as it was out of my mouth. Because it wasn’t my store, and it might never be. I guess I’d see after my appointment at the bank with the loan officer.

Titan crossed his arms.

Jesus, the man was sexy. And an arrogant *. Wouldn’t forget that part.

And he f*cked like a god. Couldn’t forget that part.

I snapped my mind out of the gutter as Titan responded, “Because he’s still going through the rebellious teenager phase, even though he’s no longer a teenager.”

“And working at Dirty Dog is a rebellion?”

“When he could have a highly sought-after spot in the Titan Industries intern program? Yes.”

“But he wants to be an artist, not work in corporate America.”

The muscle in Titan’s jaw ticked. “You think I don’t know what my brother wants to do? Shockingly enough, I’m the one who pays his tuition. And he can want to be an artist all day, but eventually he’s going to have to choose a career that will allow him to pay his own bills. He doesn’t get access to the majority of his trust fund from our parents until he’s thirty-five, and he needs to figure out how to support himself before then.”