We both stare, in shock.

“Asshole,” I hear myself murmur, breathing hard.

“Bitch.”

He looks at my lips, and my sex squeezes in reaction as he lowers his head and covers my lips again, more viciously, with his own groan of pleasure.

For a fraction of a second, my body is a trembling mass of contradictions. My hands have not touched any man. Only a boy. Seventeen. Before he got the tattoo that peeks on the inside of his forearm. Before he became larger than life, a star, before he grew up to be this man.

One second, I’m a woman with a thousand walls, who rarely touches anyone or allows a hug. In the next, I’m six years younger, and he’s the guy I let in. I don’t want that girl to take over, but I live in her. This is her skin, and nobody can make it tremble like he does.

I’m not only trembling, I feel like I’m burning from the inside out. A hot, quivering mess of desire under his lips. The same lips that sing crap about me, hurt me, haunt me, somehow remain the most beautiful lips I’ve ever seen, felt, or tasted. God. Tasted.

In a sudden frenzy I grab his shoulders, my tongue pushing hungrily into his mouth, my hips rolling toward his. God, I hate this fucking asshole.

I hate him for making me feel like this after all these years.

But my hands have a mission. Memorizing the texture of him. The feel of him. How he’s changed in six years. He’d been long and lean before and now he’s longer and harder. Smoother. Bigger. No more teen limbs, now he’s all thickness of a man, and though my arms are now free to roam, my head is trapped under the weight of his kiss. And I can’t get enough of his hot, wet, thirsty, mean, dirty, delicious mouth!

Hell, I can’t unleash all my anger in just this kiss.

I can’t express what he has done to me—how he has ruined my life—with just this incredible, pulse-pounding, life-altering kiss.

I want to bite and claw at him, kick and scream at him, take his cock in me and ride him until he can’t walk!

The bastard.

I want to hit him while I kiss him, curse him while I kiss him, push him the hell away from me while I kiss him.

I want to . . .

I just WANT.

As though channeling our frustrations and anger into this one kiss, we keep rubbing tongues almost ferally, rubbing our bodies against each other in as much anger as lust. He leans forward, grabs one of my thighs, and hooks my leg around his hips, still nearly kissing my lips off as he aligns his erection to my cunt, our sexes scraping through our jeans. One big palm cups my breast, and his thumb swipes across the hardened peak, to and fro, shooting angry sparks through me.

His hand slides under my T-shirt and I make a noise in the back of my throat as I slide my fingers under the fabric of his shirt as well, touching the smooth, bare flesh beneath. It’s harder than ever, the grooves of muscles hard and defined under my fingers, rippling as our bodies shift to get closer, our mouths remaining fused.

He winds his arms around me and sits back, adjusting me over him so my nipples brush against his chest as he pulls his mouth free and looks first at me, then at my swollen mouth. His face burns with a harsh, animalistic passion.

“You haven’t been kissed in a while, have you?”

Oh god, it can’t be that obvious. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is my business. And I’m making it priority business.”

Need slams into me at the possessiveness in his tone. His grip tightens on me, quieting my denial. “You haven’t been fucked in a while either, have you?”

“No, but I don’t want you,” I grit out.

God, he’s like a sexually charged nuclear weapon about to detonate me.

“Don’t be petulant,” he whispers softly, smoothing a hand down my hair. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks. I can taste him on my tongue, and my panties are drenched with arousal.

“This won’t be for the cameras.” His voice is deathly sexy in an I’m-so-ready-to-fuck-you way, his breath a warm gust of air against my throat as he nuzzles me like he’s mad about me. Like he’s Dracula and I’m Mina, and this little foray into the closet? This will be our undoing. “This is for me—for you and me. I need to fuck you out of my system. We’ll play whatever game they want, but we’ll have our own game. I don’t want this on film. Our lives are on film, but this can’t be in it. Do you understand me, Pandora?”

Please excuse me, but my brain is in a fog of lust and I can’t think straight. “Wha . . . but how are we going to . . . ?”

“Shh. I’ll find a way.” My muscles start quivering as he reaches between our bodies and I hear the rasp of my zipper.

He eases his hand into my jeans, his eyes glowing. “Have you been thinking about this?”

Fuck, considering that at one point yesterday I wanted to lick the tomatoes off him, YES! But I refuse to say it, refuse for him to know. I swallow back a moan when he slips a finger inside my sopping wet pussy and rasps, “Yes,” as if answering himself.

He rubs my insides, and it feels so good, I arch for him.

He’s smiling against my temple, because of course he knows—we both know—I’m drenched. And swollen from arousal. And god, it feels so good, but my pride is smarting because I’m so wet. I fight the desire he makes me feel, and I put my hands on his shoulders, battling within myself and gathering the strength I need to push him away. But then I realize . . . he owes me this. He fucking should pleasure me until I can’t get enough. So I grab the back of his head and start kissing him again, groaning softly when he does the same, his mouth taking control of mine. His skull is round, perfect. His tongue works its magic on me as I feel the knowing strokes of his finger rubbing me inside.

“Part your legs. Lift your shirt so I can suck on those tits.”

“If you want it, lift it yourself,” I huskily reply, still clinging to my pride.

He laughs darkly. His hips move against my body in a punishing roll that makes me gasp, and he groans at the stimulation as though he could get off just dry humping me.

“Do as I say, damn you.”

My head falls back as I pull my shirt up to my neck. He yanks my bra down and hooks it to the underside of my breast, then latches on to one puckered nipple. I am in full-blown arousal and pumping to his finger, moaning as he sucks my nipple. God, what is this? I’d forgotten this. How he consumes me. Delights and moves me.

I’m so aroused I’m in agony when he peels his mouth and his fingers away for a moment. Then he takes my hand and I hear a zipper, and I feel pure, hard, smooth cock in my palm as he shoves my hand into his jeans. “Oh fuck, you want me bad,” I cry.

“Work me, honey,” he urges softly. I try. Really I do. But he’s pumping into me with that magic finger and his mouth is fastened onto my other nipple, and I am so close. I’m moaning mindlessly when the snickering starts outside. Crashing back to reality, I pull my hand out of his jeans as we hear screeching.

“Shit!” I say.

Mackenna groans. “Fuck them to hell!”

“Get up!” I cry as I leap to my feet, slip my shirt back on, and try not to look like we were just making out in this closet.

Ohmigod.

That was the most incredible seven minutes of my fucking life!

I stand on wobbly legs and have just finished adjusting my shirt and hair when the doorknob turns. When they fling the door open, the outside light burns my eyes.

“So, Kenna? What the fuck, man? You teach her who’s boss?”

I wonder if he’s moping on the floor because he didn’t get to come, but I don’t get to worry for long. He brushes past me, fully composed. “Oh, she knows all right,” he says in a husky murmur, his buzz cut hair perfect, his entire demeanor as attractive as every rock god’s should be.

The twins snicker, and I tip my chin up as I walk past them down the hall, aware of the girls who are with them staring at me. When I turn, I see both of those girls embracing Mackenna, whining, “You don’t really like her, do you?”

He grabs their asses and squeezes. “Nah, I just like pissing her off.”

He looks back in my direction, his eyes still so ravenous they’re burning holes through me, and I’m so angry at what I just let him do—put his hands on me, his tongue in me . . . god, I was about to jerk him off in the closet!

My whole body tightens in anger as I storm into the room, slam the door, scan for something to throw, then just grab the pillow and scream.

SIX

I KNEW SHE’D SCRAMBLE MY BRAINS

Mackenna

“So, you fuck her in the closet?”

The twins? Yeah, these fuckers have had too many Jägerbombs and lemonshots. “You two fucking dickheads are going to get fucked, by me.” I shove Lex first, then Jax shoves me, and we push and shove our way into our suite.

I fall down on the couch and the girls soon follow, manicured fingers rubbing up my arms and chest.

“She’s such a bitch,” one whispers.

“She’s not that pretty either,” says the other.

My stomach writhes with need. Not that pretty? She’s all I fucking see. Right now. In my head. Dark hair, liquid dark eyes, that dark mouth of hers that apparently still makes me hard as a teenager. “Do me a favor, get me something to drink,” I whisper to the girls, and I rub the back of my neck as I wait for them to come back.