Booted (Trails of Sin 3)

I jerk on the handle, and it sticks. Did she lock it? In a burst of impatience, I slam a shoulder into the wood and send the door careening against the adjacent wall.

“What the hell?” She looks up from the sink, with a toothbrush dangling from her mouth.

“You locked the door.”

“I did not.” She spits toothpaste and rinses with water. “But if I did, a knock would’ve sufficed.”

I step inside and mark her rigid shoulders, stiff neck, and curling fingers on the counter. The seductive act is gone, and I’m a goddamn fool.

“What?” She sets down the toothbrush and crosses her arms.

She knows what. Guilt lines her face, and her eyes cloud with brewing defensiveness. She’s preparing for a fight, and I’ll give her one. Just not the one she’s expecting.

I let my arms fall at my sides and relax the tension in my back. “I didn’t kiss you.”

She grimaces and turns toward the shower, reaching for the lever. “Dinner’s getting cold. Go eat.”

Anger surges, and I release it in two seething syllables. “Raina.”

Her hand drops, and her arms pull in close to her ribs. But she doesn’t give me her eyes.

“That’s not how I do things.” I don’t step forward to close the distance. Instead, I grab a handful of fabric on her spine and haul her backwards.

Her arms fly up, and her feet shuffle with awkward grace as I shove her back against the wall.

She instantly goes for my upper lip, which I block. Her hands keep moving, striking, redirecting, and sweeping through every defense technique she knows. I anticipate each attack. I’m the one who taught her, after all. Nevertheless, she remains calm and focused, and fuck if that doesn’t fill me with pride.

When she realizes she can’t overpower me, she flattens her back against the wall and thrusts her stubborn chin as far away from me as she can.

“If I were anyone else, you would’ve escaped this position.” I feather my fingers along the grinding lock of her jaw. “But I’m not them. I want intimacy, depth, and I’m going to kiss you.”

Her expression contorts, as if the idea makes her nauseated.

I grip her chin and force her face to mine. “You just stuck your tongue in my ass, but my mouth grosses you out?”

“I don’t kiss.” She pushes against my chest.

I push back with my entire body. “But you’ve been kissed before?”

“Yes. I despise it.”

“Because you’ve never been kissed by me.” I drink in her dark angry eyes and shapely, fuckable lips. “As much I loved what you did back there, I’m fucking offended by your lack of interest. If I wanted a blowjob from a whore, I’d hire one.”

She flinches.

“I want you.” I run a hand through her hair, letting the satiny texture soothe my temper. “You led me to believe you were into it. Into me. That’s the same as lying.”

“It’s the way I am.” Her chest trembles.

“Fuck that. Given the amount of heat you put into fighting me, I know for a goddamn fact you’d be an intensely passionate lover.” I scrape a hand over my head as I consider the hypocrisy in what I’m saying. “I’m not an affectionate man, but—”

“You are.” She stares at my throat, eyes wide and unblinking. “That’s the problem. When you touch me, it comes from a soulful place inside you. A place of thought and compassion and connection.”

She stares up at me, her expression pained. I rest a palm against her cheek, and she recoils, her complexion turning ashen.

“I’m scared,” she whispers.

Now we’re getting somewhere.

“The Raina I know doesn’t let fear control her.” Bending my knees, I touch my forehead to hers. “Give me your mouth.”

The look in her eyes says she’s afraid of me more than anything. She stands frozen and petrified under my command, her lips quivering as I cradle her face in my palms.

My heartbeat hammers an irregular count, quickening with each millimeter of space I erase between us.

My mouth hovers. Her breaths shiver. My lips glance off hers. We both suck in air. I lean closer, touching her with my fingers, my chest, my hips. My tongue.

The soft cushion of her lips undoes me, and her minty taste wrenches me back for more. I surround her, pull her in tight.

Then I kiss her. A warm, wet hug of mouths and heavy breaths. I go in aggressively, not to test the water, but to shake it the hell up.

I dive and plunder, engorge and ravage, quenching an eight-year drought. My thumbs stroke her cheeks. My fingers sink into her hair, and she leans into us.

And edges back.

As she attempts detachment, I lick at her tongue, reinforcing the attraction. She gasps beneath the electricity and assesses it with a lick of her own. Then another. Hesitantly, she plunges deeper, reaching, exploring, mouth open, soft and trusting, fingertips denting skin, toes stretching her height, and slowly, wondrously, she thaws.