“Shut up,” he hisses. “For the love of all that’s holy, please shut the hell up, Sloane. You’re gonna split my head apart.”
I don’t stop, so he takes further action and digs his knuckles firmly into my ribs. “Ow! Motherfucker!” I slap him so hard the jarring impact rings like a bell up my arm. Zeth’s head kicks to the side. When he turns it back to me, I know I’ve gone and done it again. He’s so mad sparks practically fly from his dark eyes.
“I only trade in those,” he growls. “And with the hangover I have right now, that counts for two.”
Shit. I do my best to wriggle out from underneath him, but I have more chance of shrugging off gravity and floating into outer space. He looks like he’s ready to kill me.
“Zeth.” I try a reasoning voice. Like he’s a reasonable person and might respond like one. He clenches his jaw, the smooth line of his chin turning to steel as he arches up over me and grabs both my hands.
“You should know better by now, Sloane. You’re an angry girl, yeah, but I’m an angry boy, too. And if you plan on doling out punishment, you’d better be prepared to receive some in return.”
The first sparks of real panic begin to light inside me. I buck against him, still trying to get free. A curious smile emerges through the stern expression on Zeth’s face. He’s not bothered by my frantic struggles to escape. If anything it’s making the whole thing more pleasurable for him. From the growing hardness pressing against the inside of my thigh, that much is obvious. And yet he nods once, narrowing sharp eyes at me, and then lets me go. He sits back on his heels again, towering over me. I freeze. I should probably bolt but I know what that will lead to: a chase around the room, broken furniture and potentially broken bones to match. Besides, I think that will only make things worse. I grip my hands together over my chest, trying to keep my eyes firmly fixed on his. Trying desperately not to glance down at the straining hard-on that’s pulling against his grey boxers.
He smirks down at me, leaning back a little. This pushes his cock closer to my hands as he straddles me, and I actually roll my eyes at this, suddenly a little less afraid. “You have got to be joking?”
He shakes his head, still incredibly grave. “Not joking, Sloane. You just woke the whole villa. And at a time when going unnoticed would probably work in our favor, too.” His voice is gravel on gravel, deep and bottomless, filled with clashing desires. He’s mad at me, but he also wants to fuck my brains out. “You’re fucking reckless. You show up here without any idea what you’re getting yourself or me into.” He reaches down and roughly palms one of my breasts through my clothes, squeezing hard enough that I inhale quickly. “I came pretty fucking close to being eighty-sixed yesterday, and the likelihood of it happening today is even higher. You put yourself at risk when I specifically told you not to. And then you go hollering at the top of your lungs at the crack of fucking dawn, reminding everyone that we’re here and we’re a fucking nuisance. So if you’re gonna scream, Sloane, I’m gonna give you a reason.”
Still massaging my breast, kneading it in one hand, he takes his free one and wraps his fingers around his now full erection through his boxers. I swallow, unable to stop myself from watching as he slowly works his hand up and down, squeezing himself just as hard as he squeezes me. I’m slightly worried by all of this. He was raging mad a moment ago; now he’s instantly ready to fuck me? The possibility that those two factors are linked together is just too strong to ignore.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I breathe.
The corner of Zeth’s mouth pulls up at one corner, a knowing, unbearably arrogant smirk. “Sure you are, angry girl.”
“I am not.” I squirm pointlessly, doing my best to shimmy free. No luck. I needn’t bother, though. Zeth does something even more confusing then and relinquishes all hold over me by swinging himself off me and leaning back against the pillows. He let me go? He let me go! I jump up off the bed, spinning to stare at him incredulously. The seriousness hasn’t left his face. And his hand hasn’t left his cock. He only pauses a second to lift his hips, abdominal muscles flexing tightly, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly pulls them down. His cock springs free, resting heavily against his belly as he gets rid of his underwear. The sight of him lying there, naked and completely unashamed—why the hell would he be ashamed? He’s magnificent and he knows it—makes my breath catch in my throat. He picks up where he left off, taking hold of himself in his right hand, drawing it slowly up and down the rigid skin. The whole time he does this, he stares at me intensely. His eyes never waver from mine.