Page 29 of Cruel Titan

“What’s wrong?” I shift back from him but he pulls me back to him.

“I’m having a hard time because I really want to kiss you right now.”

“Connor,” I whisper as his hand drops lower than it should.

“Time’s up,” Asher says from behind me.

Slowly, I turn, looking to Asher before turning back to Connor. “I need a minute. I’ll be right back.”

I just want to breathe for a second. Clear my head. Not pretend to be the perfect stepdaughter that helped plan a fundraiser for someone who may or may not be responsible for killing my dad.

Hurrying down the hall, I slip into one of the many bathrooms, and as I turn to shut the door behind me, it stops just an inch from closing before being slowly forced open.

Asher. He unhurriedly steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him as his eyes trail down then back up my body. His drunken gaze is full of need, intent on a mission that I know all too well. Only this time, I almost think I see pain, or maybe even regret in his face, but this is Hades after all, putting on a seductively compelling show is his ultimate specialty.

My heart pounds against my chest, and though I back away from him, he steps forward, moving to me as my hip bumps against the granite countertop.

He reaches up, brushing his finger along my bare shoulder. “I’ve never loved and hated a dress so much.”

Sadly, I know precisely what he means because it’s the same way I feel about him. His body against mine feels right. Everything in my head—and heart—is telling me to shove him away, but I can’t.

“I’m not in the mood for you or your games.” I turn my face away from him as he leans forward, trailing his lips along the same path his finger had just blazed. Unconsciously, my hands grip his jacket, holding him to me instead of pushing him away as I should.

“Asher,” the desperate whisper is hushed as his hand skims up my thigh, sliding under my dress, brushing over my lace thong. I can’t do this right now. I can’t play some stupid game—I can’t even think clearly, and it has nothing to do with the whiskey shots. It’s exhausting fighting against the pull he has over me which is unmistakably intact as his touch summons nothing but desire. His hand grasps my bare ass cheek, and I instinctively grind against him.

“This isn’t a game. I want my hands on you. I need to feel you, taste you, fuck you.” His tongue teases the skin of my neck. My willpower weakens by the moment; he might be a jerk, but he is right about one thing … it’s his touch that I crave.

His mouth covers mine, desperately exploring as my arms wrap around his shoulders. He cups my ass, lifting me to sit on the counter before stepping between my thighs, spreading them apart so his palms can glide up the bare skin of my thighs. His fingers hook on the strap of my thong, pulling it down as I shift back, allowing him to remove it. My hands drop to his belt, unbuckling it before unbuttoning his pants, pushing them down slightly before sliding my hand into his boxers, and gripping his hard cock. Slipping his hands back under my dress, his palms squeeze my ass as he pulls me to the edge of the counter. I throw my arms over his shoulders, clinging to him when I feel him teasing my entrance until he thrusts forward, filling me as a moan escapes my lips.

“Fuck,” he groans, his fingers clasping around my throat, squeezing momentarily before drifting behind my neck, firmly gripping as he thrusts faster and harder, clinging to my thigh with the other hand.

That’s the feeling I’ve missed. The feeling of him inside me, filling me as he pumps harder, desperate to feel me.

He kneads his fingers over my leg, stroking along my skin before rubbing his thumb over my clit as he continues moving inside me. “Come for me.”

I come undone at his words, his fingers pulling every bit of sweet release out of me before he thrusts a final time, hauling my mouth to his as he releases inside me.

My heart pounds against my chest as he slowly kisses me, staying inside me for a moment before unhurriedly pulling out, leaving me empty.

What have I done?

Pushing him back, I avoid looking at him as I adjust my dress, looking around for my underwear. What the hell did I just do? Screwing him in the bathroom where anyone could walk in while I have a date waiting on me at the table with my family? A tear slips down my cheek. How messed up is it that I go to the bathroom and screw a guy that wants nothing but to make me suffer?

“Quinn,” his voice is low as he steps next to me. “Look at me.”

“No. Where the hell is my underwear?” I say, anger in my voice as I try—and fail—to bite back the tears.

He clasps my arm, but I jerk it away. “Damn it.”

He moves forward, gripping my arms as he pins me against the wall.

“We both got what we wanted so let me go.” I glare at him.

“That’s not all I want.”

“No. You want to make me suffer. Bury me in my pain.” I shove against him, and he releases me. “Sorry, that doesn’t work anymore because you’ve done it so many times.”

I storm out of the bathroom, wiping my face. Attempting to look presentable, but I know that isn’t going to be possible. Avoiding looking at Nathan and Candace, I spot Connor and head in his direction.