leave for New York soon. We need this evening to ourselves, or would you rather argue with your brother? C’mon babe, keep your head in the game.”
He slaps my behind hard as he enters his bedroom, causing another yelp to squeeze through my pout.
“I hate talking about New York!” I yell, and it feels so good to let it out.
The deep baritone of his laughter reverberates from his chest and against my thighs, causing that familiar tingle to start right in between my legs.
Damn him.
“I’m fully aware you hate talking about it, but we have to. However, first I need you in a better mood.”
He lets my body go as I slide leisurely down his toned chest until my feet are planted firmly on the floor.
I’m angry. So angry, for some reason, and I cannot help but find the sudden transition from admiration to anger bizarre. Maybe Blake’s right, they’re nearly one in the same—at least when it comes to us anyway
.
I don’t know what my plan is, but I know in Blake’s bedroom, with his wonderful, soapy, musky scent wrapping around me like a seductive blanket, that this is a losing battle if I want to go with anger.
I push at his chest and it only ignites his grin. “I’m mad at you!”
He takes a step forward and I take a step back. I’m all too reminded of Blake’s predatory skills in a nanosecond.
“How can you be mad at me when I’ve done nothing wrong?” He takes another step forward.
I take a step back, trying to imply my anger is serious, but it does nothing to his feral stare as he watches me step back, bumping into his closed bedroom door, trapping me.
“I can still be mad,” I retort, getting distracted by the mischievous lift to the corner of his ridiculously perfect mouth.
He shakes his head, biting on his bottom lip as he agrees. “That’s true. You can be mad.”
Thinking he has more to say, I’m on edge with anticipation as the silence lingers. I’m holding my breath and am utterly at his whim, my veins suddenly churning red-hot as his eyes drag slowly over my body before closing the distance between us.
“Blake . . .” I breathe out, and I’m unsure why. Is it for him to stop? For him to continue? Who knows?
He tilts his head to the side. “How mad are you?” he asks, toying with me.
I nibble on my bottom lip. “Furious.”
“Like . . . angry-sex furious?”
“Aren’t we going to talk about things?” I whine, noticing my breaths have moved from nonexistent to shallow, only personifying my body’s wanton state.
“We are, but I’d like angry sex first, then talking, and then make-up sex.”
A tight giggle escapes me as he presses his body against mine.
“What makes you think we’ll be having make-up sex?” I goad, letting my body feel some sense of relief as I allow my fingertips to reach out and rest on the waistband of his jeans.
“Because, if I know you, you’ll be angry at me now, and I’ll make it better, then we’ll talk, and it’ll rile you all up again, and you’ll just have to forgive me, hence the follow-up make-up sex. Make sense?”
My eyes twist into feigned annoyance. “That’s your plan?”
He leans in toward my face. “Unless you’d like to object?”
“I told you, I’m still mad at you.” I exhale, with his lips only inches away from mine.
“Can’t I ask you to take it out on my body?”
My own body nearly turns into a puddle right in front of him. I want to own the situation, but I feel too much at his whim to be angry any longer. That’s until he speaks further.
“Unless you’d rather go daydream about a new Italian friend of yours?”
Excuse me?
My shoulders regain their tension from earlier today. I jab him in the chest with a pointed finger, but it comes in contact with nothing but solid muscle. “I knew you were jealous.”
Blake sighs as if this isn’t the direction he wants the conversation to go, but seems to surrender to it as he responds, “Of course I’m fucking jealous!” His breath
He slaps my behind hard as he enters his bedroom, causing another yelp to squeeze through my pout.
“I hate talking about New York!” I yell, and it feels so good to let it out.
The deep baritone of his laughter reverberates from his chest and against my thighs, causing that familiar tingle to start right in between my legs.
Damn him.
“I’m fully aware you hate talking about it, but we have to. However, first I need you in a better mood.”
He lets my body go as I slide leisurely down his toned chest until my feet are planted firmly on the floor.
I’m angry. So angry, for some reason, and I cannot help but find the sudden transition from admiration to anger bizarre. Maybe Blake’s right, they’re nearly one in the same—at least when it comes to us anyway
.
I don’t know what my plan is, but I know in Blake’s bedroom, with his wonderful, soapy, musky scent wrapping around me like a seductive blanket, that this is a losing battle if I want to go with anger.
I push at his chest and it only ignites his grin. “I’m mad at you!”
He takes a step forward and I take a step back. I’m all too reminded of Blake’s predatory skills in a nanosecond.
“How can you be mad at me when I’ve done nothing wrong?” He takes another step forward.
I take a step back, trying to imply my anger is serious, but it does nothing to his feral stare as he watches me step back, bumping into his closed bedroom door, trapping me.
“I can still be mad,” I retort, getting distracted by the mischievous lift to the corner of his ridiculously perfect mouth.
He shakes his head, biting on his bottom lip as he agrees. “That’s true. You can be mad.”
Thinking he has more to say, I’m on edge with anticipation as the silence lingers. I’m holding my breath and am utterly at his whim, my veins suddenly churning red-hot as his eyes drag slowly over my body before closing the distance between us.
“Blake . . .” I breathe out, and I’m unsure why. Is it for him to stop? For him to continue? Who knows?
He tilts his head to the side. “How mad are you?” he asks, toying with me.
I nibble on my bottom lip. “Furious.”
“Like . . . angry-sex furious?”
“Aren’t we going to talk about things?” I whine, noticing my breaths have moved from nonexistent to shallow, only personifying my body’s wanton state.
“We are, but I’d like angry sex first, then talking, and then make-up sex.”
A tight giggle escapes me as he presses his body against mine.
“What makes you think we’ll be having make-up sex?” I goad, letting my body feel some sense of relief as I allow my fingertips to reach out and rest on the waistband of his jeans.
“Because, if I know you, you’ll be angry at me now, and I’ll make it better, then we’ll talk, and it’ll rile you all up again, and you’ll just have to forgive me, hence the follow-up make-up sex. Make sense?”
My eyes twist into feigned annoyance. “That’s your plan?”
He leans in toward my face. “Unless you’d like to object?”
“I told you, I’m still mad at you.” I exhale, with his lips only inches away from mine.
“Can’t I ask you to take it out on my body?”
My own body nearly turns into a puddle right in front of him. I want to own the situation, but I feel too much at his whim to be angry any longer. That’s until he speaks further.
“Unless you’d rather go daydream about a new Italian friend of yours?”
Excuse me?
My shoulders regain their tension from earlier today. I jab him in the chest with a pointed finger, but it comes in contact with nothing but solid muscle. “I knew you were jealous.”
Blake sighs as if this isn’t the direction he wants the conversation to go, but seems to surrender to it as he responds, “Of course I’m fucking jealous!” His breath
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