Rage burned in me, and my free hand cracked him clean across the face. It was a better slap than the clumsy hit I’d delivered to Catherine earlier. This one was crisp, snapping across his face with a satisfying sound but instantly, I regretted it.

What the fuck was I thinking? This was a man I’d literally seen kill people a mere twenty-four hours ago. He’d shot them as casually as turning on the TV, and here I was ... slapping him. Had I damaged my fucking brain in the plane crash?

“Beck...” Panic gripped me, and I froze, waiting to see what he’d do. My hand was tingling from the slap, and a red mark was coming up on his cheek already, but he just stared at the wall. His jaw was so tight as his cheek ticked, and his hand still gripped my upper arm like a manacle.

Licking my lips, fucking terrified, I tried again. “Beck, I—”

Whatever I was going to say, I cut off with a squeak of fright as his furious glare swung from the wall back to me. His other hand came up to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my long hair and I braced myself for his retaliation. Beck seemed like the tit for tat sort of guy.

My whole body tensed, but the blow never came. Or rather, it did ... just not in the way I was expecting.

Tightening his grip on my hair, Beck tipped my head back and crushed his lips to mine in a bruising kiss. For a long moment, shock held me totally immobile and I did nothing to push him away. Instead, I just stood there and let him kiss me while my brain ran around and around in circles screaming what the fuck is happening?

When my body finally caught up with my brain, I braced my hands on his hard, muscled chest and shoved him back from me, glaring up at him in fury.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shouted, feeling a bit like a banshee.

Beck shook his head slowly, breathing deeply as his gaze remained glued to my lips. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “This is insanity.”

But sanity was overrated. Right?

Impulse overtook my better sense, and my fingers curled in his black t-shirt, dragging him back to me and returning his kiss with one of my own, just as rough, violent and demanding as his had been. Our lips parted and our teeth clashed. It wasn’t pretty, but it was primal and needy and as hot as all fuck.

Beck’s huge hands grabbed me by the ass while my arms wound around his neck, desperate to get closer to him. Apparently he was on the same page, hoisting me up and letting my legs wrap around his waist as he walked us out of the room. Where he was taking me, I didn’t care. So long as he took me.

Ugh, that scotch was fuzzing my brain and making me cheesy even inside my head. Whatever, who wouldn’t short circuit from kissing Sebastian Roman Beckett.

That thought sent my mind down a dark path, and I peeled my lips from his with conflicted reluctance.

“Nope,” I announced, shaking my head. “Nope, I’m not doing this. Put me down.”

Beck just chuckled, a shadowed noise that wasn’t humor so much as disbelief. “Not a chance in hell, Butterfly.”

“Sebastian,” I snapped, struggling in his grip and getting nowhere. His hands still held me tight against him, and his steps didn’t falter once as he carried me up the stairs and into the first bedroom on the right. “Put. Me. Down.”

“Or what?” he taunted, kicking the door shut.

Glaring at him, my hands braced against his chest, and I desperately tried not to caress all those hard muscles. “Or I’ll scream.”

This seemed to bring a genuine—if not mocking—smile to his face. “Maybe I’d like to hear you scream.” He said it in a way that left no room to mistake his meaning. He’d like to hear me scream ... his name in ecstasy as I came all over his cock. Yeah, I could fill in the gaps.

Even so, he did what I asked. Sort of.

He took a couple of long strides across the room, then released me rather abruptly, dropping me onto a ridiculously soft bed before standing over me.

“Do you really want to leave, Riley?” he asked in a more serious tone of voice. His eyes were dark, guarded, and his expression unreadable. “You can walk out of my house right now and we can pretend this never happened. Just go back to how things were. Is that what you want?”

Fuck no! My conscience was screaming, howling denials, but I just bit my lip.

Was that really what I wanted? To pretend this never happened and potentially miss my opportunity at ever exploring this fucked up chemistry between Beck and me?

“No.” The word fell from my lips like a fucking prayer, reverent and loaded with conviction.

It was all he needed. His weight dropped down on me, his lips on mine and his hands on my body. My mind was made up, I was all in. Fuck it, even if things did go back to normal tomorrow, at least I wouldn’t be wondering anymore.

Beck’s hands shoved my robe off my arms, then stripped my t-shirt over my head in one quick move—barely even breaking our kiss for a moment. Damn he was good. Must have been all the practice...

Ugh, stop it. So he’s a man-whore. Who gives a shit? It’s not like you want to date him!

The thought of anyone—let alone me—actually dating Beck, being in a monogamous relationship with him ... it was hilarious, and I couldn’t prevent the small laugh bubbling out of my throat.

“What?” he asked, pausing with his hand over my breast. My legs had somehow parted and he rested between them.

“Hmm?” I replied, blinking up through a haze of desire. My own hands had made it up under his black t-shirt, and I could see the edges of some ink designs. The possibility of exploring them further had me practically salivating.

He pulled back a bit further. “You just laughed. Why did you laugh?”

I frowned, then a slow smile spread over my face. I hadn’t even been fully aware that I’d laughed aloud, and I surely couldn’t explain my thoughts ... ah fuck it.

“I was just laughing at the idea of you with a girlfriend,” I explained, then froze. “Not that I want to be her,” I back peddled. “Oh my god, that sounded so creepy clinger. I was just laughing at the idea of you staying faithful to any girl.” I shook my head, regretting ever opening my mouth. “Forget it, it was funnier in my head. Are we doing this or what?”

Not really waiting for him to change his mind, I tugged his shirt up and over his head to expose ... a body I definitely wasn’t ready for. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Was it even legal to be that ripped and sexy and have such perfectly placed ink?

“I think I just came,” I muttered, sweeping my eyes—and my hands—all over his body.

A sly grin crept over Beck’s lips, and I knew my foot in mouth comments were forgotten ... for now. “Not yet, but you will,” he promised, dipping his head back to my neck and kissing his way down to my chest. Deft fingers stripped me of the crop top I’d been sleeping in—big boob problems—tossing it aside and palming my breasts. Beck groaned, his breath warm against my exposed nipple. “You really do have great tits, Butterfly.”

His compliment reminded me of his little calling card, after I’d vomited in his Bugatti then passed out, but this time I grinned at the memory instead of being mad.

“Thanks,” I replied, hooking my legs around his waist and rolling us over—giving myself the dominant position. It wasn’t even subtle, this was a clear battle for supremacy even if it was a fun one. “You’re no slouch yourself. These tattoos are...” I trailed off with a noise of appreciation. My fingers traced the black ink designs before I gave over to my more primal instincts and ran my tongue across the geometric wolf on his chest. He indulged me for about half a minute, his hands busy with my naked breasts, before he turned the tables and flipped us again.

“I’m going to need you more naked than this,” he muttered, dragging his fingers into the waistband of my soft pj bottoms. He took his time peeling them down my legs, torturing me with anticipation before tossing them across the room. A curse slipped from his sexy mouth as he ran his rough hands back up my body. “You have no idea how often the sight of you like this has crossed my mind since Friday night,” he admitted, his voice gruff and needy. “You’ve been torturing me and you never even knew it.”

His fingertips brushed a little too hard across the purple-black splotches on my ribs, and I hissed. My whole body tensed, but he just stroked the injured patch before doing the same to the hand prints around my throat.

“Beck,” I breathed out on a frustrated sigh. “Are we fucking or what?”

His gentle hands stilled. He peered up at me, his eyes dark and glittering like the gateway to Hell or something. Instantly, I suspected that was the worst thing I could have said. Or was it the best? It was all a matter of perspective.

Either way, my question tore through his soft, gentle side like claws through tissue paper. His tongue ran across his lower lip, then without any warning his thumbs looped in the sides of my lace underwear and tore it clean off my body.