AYLA
His lips quirked into a faint smile. "Sure, you don't remember?"
This man irritated me and warmed my skin by standing this close.
No woman forgot the first man to get her laid, but I wasn't going to entertain him.
"No," I gritted, arms crossed. "Now, if you don't mind, get yourself out…"
He didn't let me finish.
And neither did I see that coming.
His lips slammed into mine with a force that made me freeze.
Familiar taste. Familiar darkness. Whiskey and hell.
But somehow, I felt like a fish out of water.
His lips pushed past my restraint and stroked the insides of my mouth.
Somehow his demanding, rough tongue set fire to my being.
I liked his roughness.
But this game, whatever it was, was over.
I broke away from his lips, eyes red with resentment, breath uneven.
I glared brimstones. He grinned.
Of course he fucking would.
He took that as encouragement, which didn't surprise me.
