Page 43 of Midnight Curfew

“Dallas!” Liv growls.

Neither of us pays her any attention.

Dallas slams me back again, and I fist my fingers, dying to get a hold of him.

I tilt my neck, stretching it. “Again.”

He shoves me in the chest once, and then twice.

Nerves pop under my skin, the hair on my arms rising. If I rush him, I’m on my own. It’s tempting.

Speaking of which…

“Where are my friends right now?” I ask him.

But I see the realization hit his eyes when it dawns on him that I didn’t come in alone.

He jerks his head, howling over his shoulder, “Search for those pieces of shit!”

Men spin around, squeezing past the crowd, and I can hear their stomping through the house.

“Don’t worry,” I coo. “Your women always come back to you. We don’t want them for long.” And then I smile. “Just for fun.”

I see his fist rear back. I lock in on the snarl on his face, fucking ecstatic because if there’s anything I know about Dallas Jaeger, it’s that he doesn’t care about anything other than being disrespected.

The punch slams into my jaw, rocking my head to the right, and I breathe fast and hard. The pain spreading through my face is there. I register it.

But cool water seems to fill my gut at the same time. “Again,” I whisper.

He grabs my collar, hitting me again, my teeth cutting into my lip.

And need floods my chest to the point where my groin swells with heat.

I can’t stop.

He’s so close. I have to feel him.

Barreling into him, I run him to the ground, both of us crashing as we continue to wrestle and fight. I grip his neck, expecting to feel hands hauling me off of him at any minute, but nothing comes.

Damn near straddling him, I grapple with his hands as he glares up at me. His body tenses and flexes under me, and he yanks my shirt, tearing it half-open.

Flipping me over, he pins me to the ground, pressing his forearm on my neck.

“No matter what,” I gasp as we squirm and grind, “I’m going to win.”

He growls, putting more weight on my esophagus, his groin pressing into mine.

“You’ll still be coming to my house next week,” I whisper up to him, “and mowing my lawn.”

“Don’t you mean your daddy’s?” he breathes down on me. “You don’t have anything you weren’t given.”

The scent of soap and cigarettes lingers in the air, and I struggle against this hold, feeling something hard.

I go still for a moment, holding his eyes. Then I tilt my hips up barely enough for anyone else to notice.

But he does. My cock brushes his, through our jeans, and I don’t know if it’s just me who’s hard or both of us, but we both feel it.

Inching up to get in his face, I tell him, “No one’s going to give me your wife someday. She’s going to come willingly.”