Better when He's Bold (Welcome to the Point #2)(20)
I pulled open the door a fraction and called Race’s name. There wasn’t a response, and I was about to go explore the tiny space he’d brought me to, when he suddenly appeared in front of me, green eyes flashing and that dimple indenting his cheek. No boy who was as bad as he was should be that beautiful. It wasn’t fair. Somewhere along the way he had ditched his button-down shirt and was now only wearing a white wife-beater, and his hair was sticking up in a sexy mess all over his head. He had a bottle of peroxide in his hand, along with a clean white towel.
“Let’s fix you up.”
I nodded and took a step back into the bathroom. It was too small a place to be in with him considering my lack of clothes and how much I wanted to be all over him. I felt my heart dip and his mossy gaze scanned over me from head to toe, turning darker and blacker the more naked skin his eyes took in.
“Sit down.”
I propped myself on the closed toilet lid and gazed at him with big eyes. “Be gentle.”
The dark center of his eyes flared and the corners of his sexy mouth turned down.
“What’s going on, Brysen? Why is someone f*cking with you?”
I could only shake my head and shrug. It was a bad idea because the towel already didn’t offer much coverage, and with each move I made it dipped lower across the swell of my breasts. Neither one of us mentioned it, but both of our breathing changed. Mine rapid, his shallow and raspy.
“I don’t know. Honestly. For the most part, I’m a pretty nice person, I mind my own business . . . I don’t know.” My voice was barely a whisper that quickly turned into a yelp of pain when the white cloth soaked in peroxide hit the raw surface of my knee. I jolted so hard, the towel almost fell all the way down.
Race closed his eyes briefly and sank to his knees in front of me so he could grab my arm. He straightened it out with light fingers and looked me dead in the eye.
“The gunshots at the party were about me, not you. I was there to collect money, and the kid who owed it wasn’t happy about it. Why did you think someone was shooting at you?”
His long fingers softly manipulated the cut. I felt him stroke over the rock that was embedded in there still, and then heard him swear under his breath.
“I need to find something to get that out with.”
As he rose effortlessly to his feet and loomed over me I gulped and blinked back tears that suddenly filled my eyes.
“I got home from the party and someone sent me a text from a strange number telling me that I looked pretty and that they were sorry they missed me. It felt really threatening, like they missed me with a bullet, ya know?”
It sounded so crazy, so far-fetched, but the way his teeth clenched and his jaw went hard made me glad to share it with someone who wasn’t going to just dismiss my concern.
“You have no idea who it could be?”
All I could do was shake my head. He just stared at me for a second before disappearing and coming back with a pair of tweezers. I wasn’t looking forward to this part, but having his hands on me was distracting, and being this close to him, breathing him in, was a sensual treat I wouldn’t ever typically be awarded.
“Keep your arm straight.” He took my hand and put it on his shoulder before sinking down on his knees in front of me again. He was so pretty. I just wanted to touch him, to pet him and stroke him all over. I vaguely wondered if he got away with all he did just because it was impossible to fight against the pull of all that magnetism.
I curled the edge of my fingernails into the cords of his neck when the tip of the tweezers started poking around the wound. I swore, clamped my teeth down hard on my bottom lip, and tried to stop from screaming. It hurt, really hurt, even though he was moving slowly and trying his best to do as minimal damage as possible. I tasted blood, heard him say my name, felt the burn of peroxide, and then his mouth was on top of mine.
His hands were in my hair. His tongue was twisted and turned all around my own. I was pulled off the toilet and onto his lap as he fell back with a dull thud against the wall. Race wasn’t a small guy, and the bathroom wasn’t exactly roomy, which meant I was all over him and the towel I had been using for minimal coverage was a thing of the past. I was very naked, very on top of him. His rock hardness and the sharp sting of the tile against my injured knee barely registered because all the parts of me touching all the parts of him were hot and tingly and things like cuts and scrapes didn’t matter. His chest under the thin material of his white wife-beater was strong and warm. I wanted to curl into him, fall into him, and put everything else I was always holding on to down. As dangerous as he was for me to get tangled up with, feeling him, pressing into him, made me feel safe, and had security floating around my head in such a heady way that I practically mauled him trying to get closer.
I tunneled my fingers through his hair and heard him groan into my mouth. If he was going to adopt the habit of kissing me senseless every single time he felt I needed a distraction, I was going to have to make a point of getting out of sorts around him more often. I felt his body react underneath mine. Felt him get even harder through the layer of denim separating us, and his hands got tighter in my hair. There was always an edge to Race, a razor-fine line that lurked behind all that Midas glow he possessed that hinted at a stronger core, a wilder side to him that I think he kept out of sight from the rest of the world. He was so much more than a disinherited rich kid, had so much more going on than being Bax’s partner in crime, but it was so easy to be blinded by his sheer beauty and suave manner that I think all the facets to him were easily overlooked. Right now, with his hands getting a little rough, his breath rasping in and out, and his eyes glinting all hot and dark, there was no mistaking that he was capable of doing really bad things to me . . . God, how I wanted him to do all of them.