Broken Wings (Dark Legacy #1)(56)

Beck dropped his empty glass. “Maybe you’d like to just be a Beckett fuck toy then? Since you don’t seem to want to be part of Delta?”

The heavy crystal tumbler flew from my hand, hitting the wall beside Beck’s head and exploding in a dramatic spray of glass.

“Fuck you, Sebastian Beckett,” I hissed at him. “I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole. No pretty exterior is worth the rotten interior. Call me crazy, but I have standards.”

I whirled on my heel, my dressing gown swirling like a cape, but Beck grabbed my upper arm in an iron grip before I made it even two steps out of the room. With a strong tug, he turned me back around to face him.

“You really think so, Butterfly?” he taunted. His hand still gripped my arm, holding me close enough that I needed to tip my head right back to glare at him. “You want to tell me you don’t feel this magnetic pull between us? That sexual tension that just keeps fucking building every time we’re near? That’s all in my head, is it?”

My chest was heaving, my emotions in a messy, ugly tangle that I didn’t have the energy or will to address. “M-must be,” I retorted, my voice shaking with anger, pain and arousal. “Guess you secretly love slumming it with us poor girls.”

He laughed then, a cold, dangerous sound. His eyes held me prisoner, burning with determination and I knew if I didn’t get out of here soon ... he’d win. “You’re right,” he murmured, his gaze taking a cruel edge. “Even if you weren’t one of us … Delta, I wouldn’t fuck you. Poor little orphan girls are too needy.”

Rage burned in me, and my free hand cracked him clean across the face. It was a better slap than the clumsy hit I’d delivered to Catherine earlier. This one was crisp, snapping across his face with a satisfying sound but instantly, I regretted it.

What the fuck was I thinking? This was a man I’d literally seen kill people a mere twenty-four hours ago. He’d shot them as casually as turning on the TV, and here I was ... slapping him. Had I damaged my fucking brain in the plane crash?

“Beck...” Panic gripped me, and I froze, waiting to see what he’d do. My hand was tingling from the slap, and a red mark was coming up on his cheek already, but he just stared at the wall. His jaw was so tight as his cheek ticked, and his hand still gripped my upper arm like a manacle.

Licking my lips, fucking terrified, I tried again. “Beck, I—”

Whatever I was going to say, I cut off with a squeak of fright as his furious glare swung from the wall back to me. His other hand came up to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my long hair and I braced myself for his retaliation. Beck seemed like the tit for tat sort of guy.

My whole body tensed, but the blow never came. Or rather, it did ... just not in the way I was expecting.

Tightening his grip on my hair, Beck tipped my head back and crushed his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. For a long moment, shock held me totally immobile and I did nothing to push him away. Instead, I just stood there and let him kiss me while my brain ran around and around in circles screaming what the fuck is happening?

When my body finally caught up with my brain, I braced my hands on his hard, muscled chest and shoved him back from me, glaring up at him in fury.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, feeling a bit like a banshee.

Beck shook his head slowly, breathing deeply as his gaze remained glued to my lips. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “This is insanity.”

But sanity was overrated. Right?

Impulse overtook my better sense, and my fingers curled in his black t-shirt, dragging him back to me and returning his kiss with one of my own, just as rough, violent and demanding as his had been. Our lips parted and our teeth clashed. It wasn’t pretty, but it was primal and needy and as hot as all fuck.

Beck’s huge hands grabbed me by the ass while my arms wound around his neck, desperate to get closer to him. Apparently he was on the same page, hoisting me up and letting my legs wrap around his waist as he walked us out of the room. Where he was taking me, I didn’t care. So long as he took me.

Ugh, that scotch was fuzzing my brain and making me cheesy even inside my head. Whatever, who wouldn’t short circuit from kissing Sebastian Roman Beckett.

That thought sent my mind down a dark path, and I peeled my lips from his with conflicted reluctance.

“Nope,” I announced, shaking my head. “Nope, I’m not doing this. Put me down.”

Beck just chuckled, a shadowed noise that wasn’t humor so much as disbelief. “Not a chance in hell, Butterfly.”

“Sebastian,” I snapped, struggling in his grip and getting nowhere. His hands still held me tight against him, and his steps didn’t falter once as he carried me up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the right. “Put. Me. Down.”

“Or what?” he taunted, kicking the door shut.

Glaring at him, my hands braced against his chest, and I desperately tried not to caress all those hard muscles. “Or I’ll scream.”

This seemed to bring a genuine—if not mocking—smile to his face. “Maybe I’d like to hear you scream.” He said it in a way that left no room to mistake his meaning. He’d like to hear me scream ... his name in ecstasy as I came all over his cock. Yeah, I could fill in the gaps.

Even so, he did what I asked. Sort of.