Dauntless (Sons of Templar MC #5)(32)
I restrained an exasperated scream. “Really? While I was dancing on stage, taking my clothes off for a room full of perverts, you knew I was yours? I was everyone’s. The fact that you felt like it was all for you meant I did my job right.”
Lucky’s jaw hardened. “That shit’s not true and you know it.”
I scowled at him. “The only thing I know is that you should be medicated because you’re in the f*cking clouds if you think I’m yours. If you want me for something more than a f*ck. Because that’s all I’m worth, and the only reason you think I’m worth more is because I haven’t opened my legs for you.”
He stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. “Maybe if you stop fighting so hard against this and give me a f*ckin’ chance, then you’ll see I want you for a lot more than what’s between your legs.”
I laughed again. “Really? You’re telling me you want me for what? My glowing personality? My overflowing bank account? Or how about my glitzy career where I take my clothes off for money? Yeah, I’m a f*cking catch.”
Lucky paused in the center of the room, taking up every molecule of oxygen with his presence. “Yeah, babe. I want to know more about the spitfire who has a f*cking ocean beneath the surface, who has a dirtier mouth than me which turns me the f*ck on.” He paused as the sex-drenched words caused my panties to dampen. He stepped forward again. “Don’t give a shit about your bank account, mainly because any man who’s a man takes care of his woman, though I’ll guess any man who tries to take care of you might get his face ripped off. And baby, that independence, that ferocity cloaking the vulnerability, it turns me the f*ck on.” Another step forward. He was quickly rendering my earlier escape little more than useless. “Your current career just happens to be my favorite profession,” he continued, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Though I will admit I don’t love the fact that everyone gets to see the goods.” He came close enough to circle my neck with his hands. “Not the biggest fan of that. But as long as I get to be the only one who samples those goods, I’ll deal. For now.”
I stared at him, half hypnotized, half shocked. I knew I should’ve been pissed at the blatant, irritating confidence, but I couldn’t muster it.
“You keep tryin’ to push me away, but the only thing you’re doing is pulling me closer. I’m tangled up in you and I’ve only tasted your lips once,” he murmured. “You were right. I’m crazy, goin’ ’round the bend. It’s all because I’m going through withdrawals. Haven’t got my Becky fix.” His mouth was inches away from mine when his last sentence had me turning to stone and hurtling back to earth. He must’ve gauged my change because he reared back.
I lost it then, whatever control I’d been clutching to. I pushed him away once more. “That’s ironic,” I hissed. “Because I’m going through withdrawals too. Not in the poetic way you used the term in order to get into my pants, but the real, body shaking, throwing up, thinking the universe is going to finally kill you type of way,” I shouted, and began to pace the room. “You think all the other flaws in my personality are so f*cking adorable? How about heroin addiction?” I whirled to face his granite body and blank face. “Does that ‘turn you the f*ck on’? Does that make you want to put me on the back of your bike and have your name tattooed on my ass? Is this sexy?” I ripped up the sleeves of the flimsy cardigan hiding my arms and exposed the fading track marks in the crook of my elbow. I’d been careful when he was around, which was a lot, either hiding them with makeup or clothing. “To know that I shoot up every single day to escape my absolute train wreck of a life? That I almost ended said train wreck of a life one week ago in a dirty nightclub bathroom? You ready to claim me as yours now?”
His silence and the blank expression on his face were answer enough.
Despite expecting this exact reaction, despite saying these things with the intention of getting him away from me, it hurt. Stung through the layers of armor and steel I’d constructed through the years. Stung in such a way it punctured the wave of desperation I had for a fix.
“Yeah,” I whispered, jutting my chin up defiantly, doing my best to act like the rejection didn’t bother me. “I’m glad to see the ugliness of my reality has finally shown you the truth. Now that you’ve seen what I am, you can get on with your life and leave me the f*ck alone.” I stepped forward with the intention of skirting around him and running all the way to f*cking Mexico.
But that plan was thwarted when his hand darted out to snatch my arm and hindered my escape. I was too surprised to struggle, to say anything, not that he gave me the chance. He whirled me around to face him and yanked me into his body, plastering every inch of his torso with mine before claiming my mouth. People said that, claiming, and I didn’t understand it. Okay, I turned my nose up at those people and called them soppy *s.
But there was no other word for what he was doing. It was him, owning, possessing, f*cking branding me with one kiss. But it was more than one kiss. I’d kissed countless guys over my not-so-humble sexual career. Kissing mostly meant nothing. This was something—more than something. He was kissing me, wanting me after I just laid my filth at his feet.
He released me both too soon and not quickly enough. My brain felt like Jell-O and I was panting like an overweight Labrador.