Pick of the Litter
Page 17
"Fuck it, I'll send the apartment manager a check to pay for the damage tomorrow,” he muttered under his breath.
The elevator seemed too slow, too enclosed so he ran up the stairs, barely breaking a sweat at the six floors. Going to Terry's doorway, he knocked loudly before turning his back on the door and checking out his surroundings.
There was a slight dent in the drywall, barely visible, but his eyes could see it. Blood stains were on the carpet and he thought of the man he'd bit. It brought a smile to his face that was still there when he heard the door unlock behind him, cracking open until she saw who it was.
"What do you want?!” Terry groaned, pushing her hair out of her face as she opened the door all the way. “I was just going back to sleep, dammit."
"I'm sorry,” Nashe began. Then fury struck, hard and fast, kicking him in the gut with a punch like a mule. “What happened to your face?” he growled, taking her chin in his hand and turning her face up so he could see it better.
Terry jerked her chin out of his hand. “What do you care? You left me with that bitch from hell.” Her hands fisted, her fists went to her hips and she glared at him. She looked like a kitten with her back up, all spitting and claws, her long blonde curls mussed from sleep. Her cheeks were rosy, her blue eyes fiery as she glared up at him, as if daring him to touch her again.
Nashe never backed down from a dare.
He grabbed her arms, yanking her toward him, feeling her bump into his body. In the almost non-existent tank and boxers she wore, she was soft and pliant, her curves generous and well filled out. Without thinking, he ducked his head, his mouth finding hers, hearing her muffled scream of fury.
The kiss started out hard, rough, and hurtful. It was a domination of wills, as if neither were willing to back down. But then as he tasted her, the darkness of her passion, the sweetness of her sensual nature, it changed. It grew in dimensions until that one simple kiss seemed all encompassing. It drew him in, gentled his hands, softened his lips.
Terry moaned, her hands rising and sliding up his chest, over that widely muscled chest and around his neck, standing on tip-toe to reach him better. His hands slid down her back, cupping her ass in the soft well-worn flannel and rubbing her against him.
How long that kiss would have lasted, neither will ever know. A door opened down the hall a ways, the owner of the apartment looking out. “Get a room, will ya!” he shouted, slamming his door closed.
It was as if a door closed between them as well. Nashe dropped her as if she was on fire, his hands fisting to keep from grabbing her again. “Uh, that was a mistake,” he said gruffly.
"You think?” Terry asked, her sarcasm too biting to be missed.
"Yeah,” Nashe answered as if he hadn't noticed the sarcasm. He took a step back, thrusting one shaking hand through his short hair. “It won't happen again. Since I see that you're fine, I'll let Marissa know when I see her.” He turned to leave.
Terry stood in the doorway, her lips feeling swollen. She watched him leave, barely comprehending his answer until he was almost at the door of the stairs. “Wait!” she called, leaving her door open as she hurried to him. “How is Marissa,” she finished in disgust. For instead of waiting, he'd sped up his stride.
"Damn were-whatever he is,” she snapped. Then she sighed, her eyes going dreamy for just an instant before she headed into her apartment. “But damn, can that man kiss."
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About the Author
A small town girl with a master's degree from the School of Hard Knocks, Wendy started writing as a way to combat boredom and keep from gaining dress sizes after an injury to her back kept her from working. No one was more surprised than she when people actually enjoyed what she wrote.
Writing as Daniellekitten, Wendy has won many awards for her writing, including Most Influential Writer in 2005 at Literotica.com, as well as Most Literary—Genre Transcending. She's been nominated for many of the Reader's Choice awards, as well as the monthly awards at the same website.
Wendy Stone resides in a small Michigan town, spending most of her time writing and enjoying time with her animals and the company of her family.
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