Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(17)

A slight fear that he’s about to do something insanely reckless—like maybe tossing me over the damn bannister and into the mass of bodies below—zips through me.

But fortunately for me, he makes a quick detour about halfway to the stairs, yanking me through a door after him.





Seven

Oakley

“What’re you do—”

The sudden shove he gives me after the door falls closed behind us sends me stumbling backward blindly. My heart damn near leaps out of my chest while I try to stabilize myself in the dark, nameless room. Which becomes infinitely harder to do when the light is flicked on, blinding me altogether while I grab on to the edge of something.

A sink.

Bathroom. We’re in the fucking bathroom.

Fantastic.

“What the hell, de Haas?” I snap, blinking to help my eyes adjust. When I look over toward the door, I’m even more irritated to find him leaning against it with a smug smile on his face. He says nothing, just keeps on fucking grinning. Like he’s enjoying this.

But that can’t be right, because Quinton doesn’t enjoy anything unless it involves a fist fight, puck bunnies, or his stupid fucking motorcycle.

None of those things are involved while he’s locked in a bathroom with me.

Unless…

“This isn’t about to turn into a bathroom brawl, is it?”

His brow quirks slightly, his head cocking to the side while he studies me. “Just how hammered are you right now?”

I frown. “I’ve had less than one beer.”

He continues staring for a second, those damn eyes as incinerating as ever. “Then why the hell would you think we’re about to brawl in a goddamn bathroom? Quality party entertainment should happen”—he taps the door behind him—“out there. You know, so everyone can cheer me on while I kick your ass.”

The argument is solid enough to believe. Even the part of him kicking my ass, since the douchewaffle never seems to back down from solving his problems with his fists. But it doesn’t explain why…

“Want to tell me why we’re locked in here, then?”

The grin on Quinton’s face turns devious. Predatory even, as he pushes off the door and stalks toward me. And he doesn’t stop until he’s—quite literally—backed me into a corner. Like a hunter after his prey.

His icy gaze turns liquid. Molten even, as he places his palms on either side of my hips on the sink. The proximity has my heart ricocheting off my ribs, pounding hard enough I swear one might crack. A feeling that only gets worse when he leans in closer, the scent of his cologne wafting over me sending a lightning zap straight to my balls.

Fuck, what is he doing?

Like the guy can read my mind, he whispers against my neck, “You’re saying it’s not obvious? We’re here to silence your doubts.”

His lips brush against the shell of my ear at the same moment his chest presses into mine. A thrill rushes through me at the feel of his firm, sculpted pecs, and my dick twitches behind my zipper.

“You’re joking,” I breathe, hoping the tremble in my voice is only apparent to my own ears.

“I’m joking?” he taunts, one hand leaving the counter to cup my cock behind my jeans. “I think the only one joking is you, telling me you’re not interested in what I’m offering.”

Shit.

My body betraying me before my sworn enemy isn’t the way I thought this night would go.

“Get the fuck out, de Haas. This isn’t happen—”

The rest of my dismissal is cut off somewhere in the back of my throat when he rubs the crown of my cock through the denim. Pair it with the way his lips are now trailing down my throat, and I doubt I could remember what I was in the middle of saying.

All I can focus on is the zap of electricity coursing between us, sparking where our bodies are in contact.

And fuck, it feels good. Too good.

My fingers form fists in the fabric of his shirt, and I do my best to shove him away, no matter how much my body is begging for him to keep touching me. But every ounce of fight and willpower I have left in me isn’t enough. Hell, even brute force wouldn’t be enough.

I’m trapped, completely at his mercy.

And he knows it.

“Fight me, baby. There’s nothing I want more.”

The deep rasp in his voice sounds like he’s the one being touched, and…fuck. It does something stupid to my brain. So much, I let desire outweigh common sense and allow him to unbutton my jeans. Tug the zipper down. Shove the denim and my underwear past my ass so he can take me in hand.

The second his fingers wrap around me, I swear I could come on the spot.

Quinton doesn’t waste time, stroking my length until I’m painfully hard as his lips explore the skin of my neck some more. Teasing and taunting; two things I’m more than used to when it comes to him. But never like this.

Truth be told, this is the first time I’ve wanted more of his torment, though I’d ever let him in on that little secret.

“I thought the plan was to suck it?”

Goading him is a tried-and-true way of getting under his skin, maybe even letting the hot-headed side out to play, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take to call his bluff. Because there’s no way in hell he’s actually going to—