“Not that I’m complaining,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck, “but what is this about?” He grabs one of my wrists and slams it against the wall above my head. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps, eyes flaming brighter. Shocked, I pull back my other hand. I’m pinned against the cupboards by my wrist and thigh, splayed open for him, and despite my fear of his new mood, I’m violently aroused. He drives into me without warning, and I voice a tiny shriek. He grinds his brow against mine, skull on skull, so hard it hurts. “Shut. Up.” He’s shaking. Whatever emotions are rolling through his
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God thats hot
