Hell on Heels(14)

My hands slid up his chest and found their way to the back of his neck. This brought our faces closer, and I admired his full lips, though he never spoke another word. He was a beast, and I felt delicate in his arms. His olive skin was darkened by a few days of stubble, and he pulled me closer as the song bled into another and then another.

He seemed to know how I wanted to be held, so I didn’t speak either. Resting my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes.

I had found a moment of peace in the chaos with this masked man.

I wasn’t sure how long we danced like that—minutes, maybe hours. The songs continued to blur together until a growl erupted from his chest and abruptly we were moving.

His hand at my lower back was pushing me impatiently through the crowd. It seemed as though he knew where he was going, falling in tandem with the floor plan of the event and leading us into the back hallway where, at last, his pace began to slow.

His legs were longer than mine, so I shuffled in a hurry to keep up with him.

“Are you all right?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He grabbed my hand and backed himself into the corner of the wall, plastering me up against his front.

Whatever fear I had that my having spoken would break our trance fell quickly by the wayside.

His hands fisted roughly into my hair, jerking my head backwards as his mouth came down on me fast, hard. It was domineering, just like he was, and my lips pushed back against his, finally our tongues duelling for control.

My hands grabbed at his jacket for some kind of grounding as the race in my chest began to soar.

He bit.

I moaned.

Our bodies pressed against each other so hard I wondered if we’d become one entity.

My hips bucked and I pulled at his hair.

It was less a kiss and more a battle of sorts.

It was only the crash of a vase hitting the floor that reluctantly separated our lips.

Breathing heavily, I forced my eyes open and found one of Tina’s arrangements strewn across the tile floor beside us.

Dead flowers weren’t pretty.

“Ooops.” A woman to our left stumbled and giggled.

The masked man pressed into my front and groaned in annoyance. I felt in agreement with this response, as I was not fond of this interruption either.

The woman noticed us, the state in which we remained, and grinned like a Cheshire cat in heat.

“I’ll have that taken care of,” I told her, nodding to the floor.

The masked man nipped behind my ear.

He didn’t like that idea.

A whimper fell from my mouth and a sweat broke out over my skin when his teeth bit at my collarbone.

“Your speech was ah-mazing,” the somewhat older and definitely intoxicated brunette slurred without thanks, waving her wine glass towards us before swaying in the direction of the restrooms.

“Yeah.” He scoffed against my throat, nipping again, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at full attention.

“What?” My mind was hazy.

Lifting his head, he glared at me. “Who wrote that for you?”

I came crashing into reality at Mach five and not a moment too soon. “Excuse me?”

“The speech. Who wrote it?”

“I did.” My voice had dropped low. I was edging farther away from being turned on and closer to being royally pissed off.

“You didn’t,” he accused as his hands trailed over my backside. I loosed the grip I had on his suit lapels for fear I’d rip one off and use it to choke him.

“I did.” I shoved the wall of his chest.

It was futile, as I moved not even an inch.

“What’s someone like you know about grief, Princess?” He laughed.

He actually had the audacity to laugh in my face.

Maybe he thought I hadn’t suffered enough. Maybe he thought I deserved it. Or maybe his head was so far up his ass he couldn’t find his own without a road map.

My hand moved of it’s own accord.

I slapped him, hard.

And I didn’t regret it.

Not one f*cking bit.

My nerves were shot from the day’s vulnerability, and I had no patience for a condescending son of a bitch. I was so wound up I barely noticed the way my hand stung.

“How dare you,” I spat. “I dragged my brother from the gutter for years until the day I watched his demons slaughter him in it. So don’t you dare assume I don’t know what grief is. I may not have fought wars, but my trenches are laced with blood just the same.”

I stepped backwards and tried to rip the mask from his face. He caught me by the forearms on my retreat and I snarled as he dragged me back into his chest.

“I let you hit me once,” he growled, and it never occurred to me to flinch. “Do it again and you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

I lifted my hand to slap him again, but his grip was too tight. “Let. Go.”

I leaned into his space. Prey challenging a predator like it had a death wish.

“No,” he deadpanned.

I wasn’t sure a man had ever made me so mad.

I was losing control and I hated it.

I hated that he belittled my suffering.

I hated that I was becoming unhinged in front of him.

“Let me go,” I seethed, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. “Let me go, or I will rain a hell down on your head so ruthless you’ll wish you knew my grief and not the one I unleashed on you.”