12. Zak

Asurge of electricity blasts through me and shoots down my right arm. The crackle is so intense, it hurts. My arm operates as if it's separate from my body, no longer controlled by my mind. When my fist connects with Matt's jaw, fierce tingles shuttle down my spine.

He stumbles backward, more from shock than the impact of my punch. Yes, I played football, but it was a long time ago, and even though I work out religiously, I'm in nowhere near the kind of shape Matt's in.

Raising a hand to his bright red cheek, he grunts and fires a glare at me.

I don't bother to hide my smirk.

Pretty boy's face ain't gonna look so pretty in a few minutes when the rapidly forming blue-black bruise covers half of it.

I marked him.

Fuck him for challenging me.

"You hit me," he sneers.

"Observant. Good to know the shot didn't mess with your brain." The corners of my lips curl upward. "Fuck, that felt good. I've wanted to do it for so damn long."

He pulls his hand away from his face and straightens up. I shudder from the burn of the flames shooting from his blue eyes. The heat radiates deep inside of me, coiling in my gut as his eyes rake over the length of my body like they want to dismember and decimate me.

Goosebumps shoot up my arms and down my legs under his heavy stare, the pain in my relatively unused fist blunted by the rush of desire flooding my mind.

I wanted to hit him so goddamn badly. For years, I imagined pummeling his ass into the ground.

I just didn't expect it'd be such a turn-on to see him bent over afterward.

Brings back memories…

"What the hell is the matter with you? I just saved your ass back there, you ungrateful prick."

"You want me to melt at your feet? Thank you for saving me…again?" My voice tightens. "You owe me, asshole. You owe me big for keeping my mouth shut about you."

I wanted to have faith in him. I wanted him to do the right thing, to prove to me that I was more than just a fling because he'd reached me on a level I didn't even realize I had. Instead, he stayed silent. I wore the scarlet letter, and he got off scot-free, fucking women two at a time to keep attention off him.

He said it'd blow over, that the guys would focus on something else soon enough, that it wouldn't break us.

Liar. Dirty fucking liar.

I kept his secret, not because I was in love with him, but because I thought I was strong enough to handle whatever the guys threw at me. I didn't realize that the cuts would be so deep, I'd never recover from the gaping wounds their torment left. Sure, my leg healed. But the gashes in my soul can never be stitched back together.

Conflict assaults my mind, hatred and disgust festering inside of me, my shoulders quaking from the rage that threatens to ravage anyone in my direct path.

And right now, that'd be the gorgeous, bruised man standing in front of me.

My pulse jumps, white noise drowning out all the reasonable and rational protests that my mind screams at me to step back, run back up the stairs, and get the hell away from the stadium, and most importantly, from Matt Harrison.

But his net is wrapped tight around me, and I have no way to pry myself out of it.

A spicy, woodsy scent clouds the air around me, making me dizzy with emotions I was convinced I'd boxed up in the far recesses of my charred heart. I swallow hard, inhaling the masculine cologne and letting it infuse me.

With stilted breath, I grab onto the lapels of his jacket and push him back against the wall before I slam my chest into his massive one and crush my lips against his. He brings his hands to the back of my hair and tugs, his mouth devouring me like he's a starving lion and I'm his very eager prey. Our tongues dance, spiraling with pent-up hunger. I bite his lower lip, dragging it through my teeth the way I know makes him crazy.

His cock swells in response. He thrusts his hips against me, grinding against my own raging hard-on. I love hearing the sound of his moans and mewls. The vibration of his lips against my neck, his teeth nipping at my earlobe just the way he knows makes me crazy… fuck, is this really happening?

I drink him in, everything I've been missing, everything I've denied needing for so long.

His muscles ripple and tense under my demanding touch.

What the hell am I doing? This man is the devil. I loved him, trusted him.

Then, he lit a torch and threw it on my life, like gasoline on an open flame.

But none of that stops me now. He's like the most addictive drug. You know you need to just say no, but there's something too tempting to turn away. Then, after one hit, you're finished for life. Ruined forever.

Goddammit!

I slip my hands underneath his jacket and fist the back his shirt. My fingers ache to dig into his skin, to drag my nails over every cut of muscle, to leave evidence of my need and desire all over his god-like body.

Oh, holy fuck. The energy between us is so combustible, it's entirely possible that we can burst into raging flames at any second. And the fact that anyone could walk into this stairwell and catch us… it should be enough of a threat to make me stop.

But it only makes me hotter.

I cup his dick, kneading it through his suit pants. He melts into me like putty. I fumble with his belt buckle and pull open his pants before slipping a hand into his boxer briefs. I stroke his hard length and grip his balls, deepening our kiss. He chokes on a gasp at my harsh grip. I tease his slit with my finger. Precum pools at the tip, and my mouth waters with need.

Need to taste him.

Need to fuck him.

But I have to hate him, dammit.

He's my undoing.

His hand is down my pants before I realize it. My knees buckle as his strong fingers slide up and down with long, hard strokes. A deep ache settles in my balls.

"You fucking hit me," he growls against my lips.

"That's not even close to the worst punishment you deserve." I slam into him, pressing my hips against his, the friction between us too delicious to put into words.

"What else do you have in mind? Tell me what you'd do to me. Tell me how it would feel." He pulls my head back so his lips can assault my neck. His breath is hot against my skin, his lips suckling my jugular so he can leave his own mark on me.

He. Remembers. Everything.

I struggle for breath, my lungs constricted by an imaginary chain pulled tight enough that I can barely squeeze out a gasp of air. Dizziness consumes my lust-cloud mind. Suddenly, I'm back at Ohio State that first night we fucked. The thrill of the forbidden captivated us both, making us do stupid, reckless things…

No, I don't want to think about that now.

This bliss-filled bubble we're in can pop so quickly if those toxic thoughts prick at it.

"So many depraved things," I moan, jerking his cock harder and faster. "And you fucking deserve every single one of them. I want to hear you scream and beg me to stop when I push you beyond your limits."

"Except I have no limits with you." His eyes float open, glimmering with something so carnal, so primal, I can almost come right now from only his hand and his words filled with such dirty promise. "But you already know that."

My cock throbs in his grip, and then, his fingers slip underneath my balls and tease my hole.

No, no, no!

I can't let this happen. I can't let him in. Not again.

He doesn't really want me. He never did.

I keep repeating those words to myself, but my dick doesn't deflate the way I wish it would.

"I—I?—"

Tingles dance furiously in my groin, white noise fills my ears.

I can't. I won't.

My balls tighten. I squeeze my eyes closed.

Don't do it!

"Tell me how much you hate me," he growls against my lips. "Then, I want you to show me. Right here. Right fucking now."