Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(61)

“Stop shoving me around, Liam. Stop trapping me, and—”

His mouth comes down hard on mine, a deep thrust of his tongue claiming me, the taste of his anger like a shot of spicy, bitter whiskey about to pull me into a haze I cannot allow myself to enter. I shove at his chest and he tears his mouth from mine, and I am both relieved and tormented by the loss of the intimate connection.

“You have no right to do what you did back there,” I hiss.

“You made that pretty damn clear tonight.”

“I didn’t do anything, Liam. You did.”

“What I did was have a shit day you completed with an exclamation mark.” He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it aside, then does the same with his tie.

“I repeat. I didn’t do this. You did.”

He leans on the wall. “And you know how I wanted to deal with this shit day? I wanted to get lost in you, and us, and what did I find? You with him.”

“He was there when I got there.”

“And that made you drink out of his bottle.” It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. His hand slides into my hair, and he stares down at me, his hand moving roughly over my shirt. “I have no right, you say? That’s what it comes down to, now doesn’t it? I have no right to want you all to myself. I have no right to expect you to be loyal.”

“You—”

He rips my shirt and I gasp as he unsnaps my bra, teasing my nipple, pinching it. He is rough, hard in a way I’ve never known him to be. “I liked this shirt and now it’s ruined,” I whisper, but I’m not talking about the shirt.

I’m talking about us.

“And you like being f*cked. So that’s what I’m going to do. Maybe you want me to be

that guy I was before I met you. Maybe you want me to f*ck you and leave you. Or maybe you’d rather him do it.”

“No.” My voice is barely audible. I feel defeated. He unbuttons my shorts and I let him.

“I don’t want Jared.”

He shoves my shorts and panties down my hips and his fingers are between my thighs, stroking the sensitive flesh before the clothes ever hit the floor. “Maybe,” he adds, acid in his tone, “we should invite Meg and Jared over to join us.”

Hurt and anger overcome me. “Is that what you want? Permission to go back to what you were before me? To f*ck everyone and anyone?”

“You’re nice and wet just talking about it—”

“Stop!” I shove at his chest. “Stop talking like that and stop touching me.”

He surprises me and lets me go, leaving me standing there with my shirt ripped open and my shorts at my feet. He motions to the door. “You want me to stop. You want to go. Then go.”

I hug myself. “Who are you? I don’t even know you.”

“I can only be me, baby, and I’m not sure you can say the same. I’m not sure you know who you are and I damn sure don’t.”

The insult that hits a little too close to home, like a slap, and I slump.

“If you wanted to hurt me, it worked.” I kick off the shorts and throw them at him. “Keep your stupid clothes and money and * attitude.” I cut around him, not even caring I’m in a ripped shirt and sandals and nothing else, and I don’t stop until I’m at the dresser digging for my clothes that I bought.

I’ve been alone a long time. I can do it again. I will do it again.

Liam’s hand comes down on my arm and he turns me. “What are you doing?”

“Putting on my clothes that don’t make me feel like some kind of prostitute you own.”

“Prostitute. How can you even say that? You were the one with someone else.”

“I wasn’t with him, Liam. I was with you. Was as in past.”

He pulls me to him and the heat of his body, the feel of him pressed to me, is heaven and hell at the same time. I want him. I need him. But not like this. Not. Like. This. “Is that what you want?” he demands. “Me gone?

Me out of your life?”

I know I should say “yes.” I should walk away and get out of what is trouble waiting to happen. “You’re being an ass.”

“Do you want me out of your life, Amy?”

“No,” I whisper. “I don’t want you out of my life. I want you to stop acting like this.”

His mouth comes down on mine and it is hot and possessive and it is not heaven and hell this time. It is heaven, and I sink into the kiss, melt into his body, the argument and the rest of the world disappearing. I am connected to this man. I need him like I didn’t think I could need.

I grab his shirt and I pay him back for what he did to mine. I rip it open, letting buttons fly, and my hands push under the cloth, absorbing warm skin and taut muscle. I wrap myself around him. I cannot get close enough to him.

He lifts me onto the dresser against the wall and I do not even remember him shoving his pants down. There is just his mouth on mine, his hands on my breast, and the hard length of him pressing between my thighs, into the wet, sensitive V of my body.

He is as he has never been with me. I am as I have never been with anyone. Wild, out of control. He is kissing me everywhere, whiskers rasping erotically over my skin, tongue licking and tasting, and driving me insane.

His hands curve under my backside, arching me against him, and he pumps into me, drives harder and harder until we are so lost in passion, we cling to each other, our heads buried in each other’s necks, our bodies moving fiercely, urgently.