Play Rough (Black Rose Kisses 2)

I glare right back at him and shrug my shoulders, narrowing my eyes challengingly. “Maybe I don’t want to make up my mind. Maybe I’m the kind of girl who doesn’t like to choose.”

Sloan clenches his jaw, and I can see the muscle flexing. He looks pissed as shit, but there’s also something that flares in his eyes beneath all that. Something that makes me push harder instead of telling him to fuck off and mind his own business.

“What? Would you like that?” I ask, stepping just a bit closer, making my voice more of a taunt than anything. “Sharing me?” I laugh huskily, cocking my head. “Ohhh, I get it. You know, I thought you were pissed off when I kissed Rory after the fight. But maybe I was reading it all wrong. Maybe it just turned you the fuck on to see your friend with his tongue down my throat.”

“Shut the fuck up, Mercy,” Sloan bites out.

“Why?” I shoot back, narrowing my eyes at him as I take a step closer. I’m actively trying to push all his buttons right now, trying to get a rise out of him, and I don’t even care that it’s probably a stupid move. “I think we’re finally getting somewhere. Finally, I’m starting to understand what makes Sloan Kennedy tick. You like to watch, is that i—”

The words are barely out of my mouth before Sloan snaps. He moves like lightning striking, slamming me against the brick wall of the alley as his mouth descends on mine.

His kiss is hard and bruising, his fingers gripping my upper arms tightly, and it only takes me a second or two to catch up and start kissing him right back.

I kiss him with the same intensity I want to punch him, taking out all my anger and frustration in the pressure of my lips against his.

When I wrap my arms around his neck, Sloan growls roughly, the sound reverberating through me. For some reason, the feeling of his deep voice in my body just gets me hotter, and I bite down on his bottom lip, making him groan sharply.

His hands are all over me, running up and down my sides, cupping my ass, squeezing and groping every part of me he can reach. One of them slides under the hem of my shirt, and it’s my turn to make a noise of surprised pleasure at the feeling of his large, calloused palm on the flat of my back. His hands are warm, and they heat my body up too. My nipples are hard, and the pulsing thrum of need is gathering between my legs.

I can feel the buzz of the booze in my blood and my head, making it even easier for me to give in to this. My heart is pounding, and I follow Sloan’s lead, pushing my hand up under his shirt and touching his abs before moving around to his back, avoiding the fresh stitches in his side. I drag my nails down the expanse of his back, over the bunched muscles, and he shifts, shoving me harder against the wall.

Stupid, half-formed thoughts are running through my head, logic and reason and strategy flying out the window as something else entirely takes over my body.

It would be so easy for him to fuck me right here and now. He could pull my pants down, make me face the wall and drive into me. Or I could take my pants off altogether and wrap my legs around his waist. He might pull his stitches if we did that, but I don’t even know if he’d care. The fact that we were only sort of hidden in our position stopped seeming to matter as soon as he got his hands on me, and all I know is I want more.

It’s a real mind-fuck, considering the game I’m playing.

The lie I’m living.

Sloan is aggressive, groping at my body and trailing scorching kisses down to my neck in a way that makes me shiver and almost melt against him. I wanted his attention, and I got it for sure, but it’s hard as hell to tell where the game ends and real feeling begins.

I know I’m not faking my body’s reaction to him.

But what about everything else?

I shouldn’t want this. I’m supposed to be playing a role here, and that’s it. I’m lulling Sloan—lulling all of them—into a false sense of complacency so that they’ll trust me and I can destroy them. But at the moment, everything feels way too fucking blurry. The feelings coursing through me feel too real, and so does the need that echoes in every beat of my heart.

I don’t know what Sloan’s angle is, whether he’s playing his own game or if this is real attraction. He’s so fucking hot and cold with his attitude toward me, and taking this opportunity to make some headway with him is a good idea.

Probably.

With the way my mind is spinning and my body is craving him, I can’t tell up from down, let alone right from wrong.

Am I getting closer to my goal right now, or farther away from it?

Sloan’s breathing is ragged right there against my ear, and I grind forward against him, moving my other hand to feel the bulge at the front of his pants.

“You fucking tease,” he growls out, pressing his hips harder against my hand, clearly seeking out more friction.

“You’re one to talk,” I shoot back, panting hard. “You’re so goddamn—”

I fall silent when I hear the sound of footsteps, then an impatient huff from not that far away. Sloan and I lean toward the sound at the same time, and I’m not surprised to see a woman standing just a few feet away, arms folded, irritation clear on her face.

She’s seen us making out like horny teenagers in an alley, and even though she could easily go right into the convenience store and go about her business, she doesn’t seem to want to leave until she’s let us know how appalled she is by our behavior.

She stands there, glaring for another second or two, and then turns on her heel and marches into the store, letting the door shut behind her with more force than is probably necessary.

I roll my eyes and look back to Sloan, but the spell is broken now. He’s stepping back, pulling his hands away from me and running one through his hair instead. He meets my eyes for a second before he turns away, still breathing hard.