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“No, you haven’t, but-”
“When does this stop being about Jake and start being about us?”
“If you’d spent four years with someone, only to find out they’d been fucking cheating on you for God only knows how long, you’d be a bit suspicious, too.”
“And you seem to forget that I was cheated on, too.”
He snorted. “Try living through that for four years.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I clenched my jaw. “Because I only dealt with it for six months, it doesn’t matter? It didn’t hurt? It means I’m just as guilty as he is?”
And it just continued, back and forth, around and around, neither of us willing to back down nor cut the other any slack. All the while, as our voices rose, something in the back of my mind told me there was no point. This wasn’t supposed to be anything serious. I shouldn’t have had nearly enough invested in this little fling to bother fighting like this. I didn’t understand what drove me to keep arguing. What did I possibly have to gain? Then again, it was probably just stubbor
It didn’t matter who was right or wrong anymore. It just mattered whose stubbor
Did I?
Why, then, did my heart skip every time his eyes darted toward the door? Why did I feel like my entire world hung in the balance whenever he paused?
And still it escalated until, even though we were just inches apart, standing toe to toe, I couldn’t hear him anymore. I couldn’t hear him over myself and I couldn’t hear myself over him. Everything we said disappeared into shapeless noise, abstract strings of words that didn’t amount to anything because no one was listening.
Something in my mind begged us to stop, to quiet the anger and just listen to each other, but neither of us backed down. The only thing that ever stopped either of us was the need to pause and inhale, but that took only a split second each time.
Something had to give. Someone had to stop this. One of us. Either of us. Somehow, some way, this had to-
I kissed him.
Chapter Twenty-two
We were both still.
The front of his shirt was bunched in my hands and his lips were against mine, but neither of us moved. Neither of us breathed.
My heart thundered in my chest, but the space around us was silent. My mind raced. I’d succeeded in quieting us, in halting the argument in its tracks, even if it was only for a second. He hadn’t pulled away, but I had no idea what was going to happen next.
I broke the kiss, but didn’t release his shirt. We stared at each other, taking rapid, shallow breaths, as out of breath from the kiss as from the shouting.
His gaze locked on mine, Nathan swallowed hard. His lips thi
All at once, his hands went to the sides of my face and he kissed me, the sheer force of his advance knocking me backward. The counter stopped me, but I couldn’t decide whether or not it hurt because my every sense was focused on his kiss.
There was nothing gentle about the way he kissed me. His mouth tasted of smoke, just as I’d suspected, and every movement of his lips and tongue was demanding, even violent. I let go of his shirt and grabbed the sides of his neck, holding on to him the way he held my face, not caring if my fingers dug in, only that he stayed here. Stayed right here.
I put my foot against the cabinet behind me and used it as leverage to force both of us away from the counter. The opposite counter caught us, knocking a grunt-of surprise? Pain?-out of him. He faltered for only a second though, growling into my kiss and grasping my hair so hard it hurt.
This beat the hell out of screaming at each other, but it wasn’t over yet. We were both too angry to see reason, and that anger needed an outlet. Some sort of release. We’d both already said too much, even if neither of us had heard a damned thing, so talking-if we could call it that-wasn’t helping. Short of calling it quits and parting ways, there was only one way we were going to see the other side of this, and that was to relieve this tension.
And if that meant fucking when we could barely stand the sight of each other, then so be it.
We moved out of the kitchen, stumbling toward the stairs as we fought to get out of our clothing. He almost knocked me off my feet when he pulled my belt free. I very nearly tore some buttons off of his shirt.
On the way down the hall, I shoved his shirt off his shoulders. He jerked his hands free of the sleeves and grabbed the back of my neck, keeping me from pulling away as he kissed me. My back slammed against the wall, knocking the air out of my lungs, but it wasn’t enough to make me break this violent kiss. Something crashed, but I couldn’t tell if it was because we’d collided with it or if a thrown piece of clothing knocked it over, and I really didn’t give a shit.
I reached up to grasp his hair, but my fingers ran through it slowly, almost tenderly. He shuddered and loosened his grip on the back of my neck. Moving together, slower now, we inched closer to the stairs. On the way up, I took my shirt off, and when we reached the top, I tossed it aside just before I pushed him up against the wall and kissed him.
The more we kissed and the less clothing there was to divide us, the slower we moved. Our hands quieted. Every kiss was gentler than the one before. When we sank into bed together, the rage was gone. We simply wanted each other now. Needed each other.
Somewhere between the kitchen and the bedroom, we had become lovers again.
I rolled him onto his back and raised myself over him on one arm. With my free hand, I ran my fingertips down the sides of his face. Were we really screaming at each other downstairs?
His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but he drew only half a breath, the air catching in his throat when his eyes met mine. Whatever he thought to say, he must have thought better of it, because instead of speaking, he did the same thing he’d done in the kitchen a lifetime ago: Put his hands on my face-gently this time-and kissed me, sitting up to meet me halfway before we both fell slowly back to the bed.
This kiss had every bit of the breathless fervor from earlier, but none of the anger. No violence, no demands.
It was his turn to change position, easing me onto my back without breaking the kiss once. When his torso shifted slightly, I didn’t have to look to know what he was reaching for. The familiar sound of the nightstand drawer made me shiver with anticipation.
Only then did he break the kiss, our eyes meeting as he tore the wrapper with his teeth. Whatever had happened downstairs, we’d deal with eventually. As far as this moment was concerned, we were on the same page, and that was good enough for me.
Sitting up, he quickly rolled the condom on and put some lube on it. Then, he guided his cock to me. I bit my lip, trying not to shake with anticipation.
“Oh, my God,” he said as he slid into me. Even more than the physical sensations, it was his voice that made my breath catch and, for a moment, I didn’t understand why. Then I realized it was the first thing either of us had said since I’d kissed him into silence. The last thing out of either of our mouths had been angry screaming. The next thing out of his was a breathy whisper of arousal.
Our eyes met and he came down to kiss me as his hips found a steady, fluid rhythm. How long we moved like that, I couldn’t say. All I knew was how incredible he felt and tasted and smelled and how the hell is this the same person I was fighting with?