The Vargas Cartel Trilogy (Vargas Cartel #1-3)(28)
I swallowed hard, trapped in the prison of his too watchful eyes.
“What are you afraid of? What do you think is going to happen right now?” His forehead finally brushed mine, and I held my breath.
Do not breathe.
Do not breathe.
Ignore him.
Ignore his tantalizing scent.
Ignore his hypnotic eyes.
Ignore the sound of his voice.
“Do you think I’m going to take advantage of you?”
His dark velvet voice meandered down my spine, and I tensed my muscles, hoping to fend off my reaction. “I wouldn’t be surprised. You have a track record of doing exactly that.” I tried to sound indifferent. I even accompanied my words with an exaggerated eye roll, but the words had a mind of their own. They came out wobbly and unconvincing.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes, and you know it. You take advantage of me whenever you sense even the faintest hint of vulnerability.”
“Are you telling me you’re vulnerable right now?”
I pressed the palm of my hand against his chest, trying to maintain even a small fragment of space. He was too close. Too overwhelming. Too imposing. Too heart-stopping. Too everything.
“Why are you doing this? You don’t want me. This is about finishing the job…getting that precious pardon for your brother. You’re just trying to…” I fisted the fabric of his shirt in hand, twisting it, madly searching for the magic words to combat him. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“Trying to what? Kiss you? Kill you? Seduce you? Make you forget?” he said in his signature low, rugged voice that never failed to melt me from the inside out.
“All of the above. I don’t know anymore. I’m confused. You confuse me. Whatever this is between us confuses me,” I admitted. The minute the words fell out of my mouth, I groaned. But that didn’t stop my body from drifting toward him like a magnet, unable to resist his lure. What was wrong with me?
A spine-tingling smile burst across his face, and I practically tasted my capitulation, both bitter and sweet as it coated my tongue. From the smirk on his face, he realized it too. Evidently, when it came to Ryker, I was Pavlov’s dog responding every time he rang that f*cking bell. No matter his tactics, no matter how much he annoyed me, no matter if he planned to kill me, I surrendered every time he summoned me.
“Stop fighting me. You know you don’t want to.”
He was a snake charmer. Didn’t he realize I couldn’t fight him? I shook my head, rejecting him, but he realized it was symbolic in nature, not an actual rejection. My eyes fluttered closed, embracing my defeat. He’d spun the web, and I was his willing victim, tangled in his silky prison.
The minute his lips grazed mine, my body came alive, and I fought back with the only weapon I had—my body. I became the aggressor. My mouth opened, searching, demanding, raiding, and he let me in. In an instant, his tongue slid against mine, and I sucked, bit, and took everything he offered and more, because he’d already stolen everything from me.
He gave just as good as he got, battling me with his mouth and hands, taking what he wanted and giving only what he wanted. He fought dirty, and within seconds, a hunger unlike anything I’d ever felt blazed through every cell in my body.
“I hate you,” I said against his mouth, even as my hands pulled him closer. It was the truth. I hated that I failed to say no to him. I hated that he’d hijacked my life. But most of all, I hated that he made me feel more alive than Evan ever had. Even when our relationship was shiny and new, I’d never experienced the raw, white-knuckling desperation I felt with Ryker. For Ryker.
“I know,” he responded, his eyes stormy and urgent like thunderstorms gathering on the edge of the horizon. He shoved me onto my back, and his body followed, hovering over me, watching me, challenging me, and I fought.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I arched into him. “I wish I never met you.” My hands slipped under the hem of his shirt, gliding over the chiseled peaks and valleys of his sculpted chest. As much as I wanted to touch him, I wanted to hurt him. I raked my nails down his chest, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. Fucker.
“I know.” His mouth moved to my neck and goose bumps scattered down my arms. Why did my body betray me time and time again with Ryker?
I rocked against him, one hand fisted in his hair, and the other yanked on the front of his shirt. I would rather spontaneously combust than ask him for anything, but my body literally ached for more contact, more of him. Mercifully, he understood me, moving against me with punishing force.
I didn’t know how long we continued our twisted game…battling each other, manipulating each other. As hard as I pushed, he’d push back, not taking it any further than he wanted. Instead, we were like two hamsters going round and round…kissing, licking, touching, and grinding against each other, over and over, replay after replay, but nothing more.
Control.
Dominance.
Superiority.
You name it; we battled for it. Instead of using weapons, we used our mouths, our hands, our bodies, and our minds…until fire licked my hyper-sensitized flesh and every nerve ending prickled with both pleasure and pain.
Frustration mushroomed inside of me, bit by bit, second by second. A freefall of rioting and contradictory emotions crossed swords inside my mind. My ability to think logically failed, splintering like a paper-thin piece of wood. I was self-destructing under his assault.