The Girl in the Rental

"You asked for this!"

He growled the words through clenched teeth, his grip on the back of my neck tightening. Ryan suddenly lunged, his burning lips crushing mine in a brutal, suffocating kiss. He forced his way in, his tongue deep and demanding, stealing the very air from my lungs.

I let out a muffled moan, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I tilted my head back, meeting his aggression with an unrefined, bold hunger of my own.

My fingers tangled into his damp, short hair, pulling hard.

We were locked together, every inch of our skin flush. Through the thin, soaked fabric, I could feel every hard line of his muscles and the terrifying heat of his reaction. Water droplets raced down the curves of our bodies, and for a second, I couldn't tell if it was the shower, his sweat, or my own wetness.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Miller! You actually getting some in there? Let the boys have a look!"

The rowdiness outside spiked, the wood of the door groaning as if it might give way any second. Ryan stiffened. He pulled back just an inch, his lips hovering over mine.

"...You really want them to see?"

I looked at him and let out a sudden, sharp laugh. My fingertip trailed down the tense line of his neck to his Adam's apple, giving it a playful flick.

"Could you really bring yourself to share?"

His throat bobbed violently and he let out a low curse. He didn't go back for more. Instead, he abruptly set me down, though his iron grip stayed clamped around my waist. He reached down, grabbed my soaked towel, and wrapped it roughly around me.

Then, he threw the door open.

A handful of his crew, led by a wiry guy they called Monkey, were huddled together with sleazy, excited grins. The second they saw us, their expressions froze.

Ryan stood there, shirtless, his work pants soaked through, his face dark enough to kill.

"Seen enough?"

He didn't raise his voice, but the temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. The men went silent instantly, stepping back in unison.

"Miller... we were just... worried about you..."

"Get the hell back to bed!" Ryan cut him off. "If anyone shows up tired on the site tomorrow, I’m tossing them in the cement mixer!"

No one dared to argue. They scattered, though a few couldn't help but look back over their shoulders.

Soon, the only sound left was the steady drip of water. Ryan turned his gaze back to me.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

I tested my legs. They were a bit wobbly, but I nodded. He didn't let go of me, half-dragging, half-carrying me through the steam and back toward my room. When we reached my door, he finally released his hold.

"Take off that wet towel and get dressed," he ordered, his voice low and gravelly.

I didn't move. I just watched him.

"Or did you plan on coming with me like that? Because I don't mind taking this outside.”

We locked eyes, the air between us thick with the sound of our breathing. Suddenly, he took a step forward, closing the gap again.

"Tonight..." He held my gaze, every word deliberate. "You’re coming somewhere with me."

It wasn't a request; it was an ultimatum.

I licked my dry lips. "And if I say no?"

He reached out, his rough thumb dragging slowly across my bottom lip. He applied enough pressure to make it sting, a dull, electric ache. His hand moved down to my throat, then dipped lower, sliding beneath the edge of the towel to press firmly against my skin.

"Then I won't be 'asking' nicely."

"Five minutes. Get dressed and meet me downstairs."

With that, he pulled his hand back and turned for the stairs without a second glance.