Shatter(4)

By: Lola Taylor


Thundering footsteps vibrated the floor, and a moment later, he was jerked backward as she grabbed hold of a can and dug in her heels. “Like hell, you are,” she said through clenched teeth. “Do you have any idea how much that paint cost? Sherwin-Williams is not cheap!”

“I don’t care.” He stared her down. Decorum be damned. He knew he was supposed to be professional and all, but honestly, sometimes the only way to deal with crazy was to dish up a little bit of crazy yourself. He yanked back, which only made her growl at him.

She growled at him, like a damned animal. Holy shit, she would definitely be a tiger in bed. Heat rushed through him, and blood pumped straight to his steadily growing erection.

“Give it back.” She seethed.

His jaw ticked. If he wasn’t holding back, he would probably hurt her. But he didn’t want to. She seemed strong and fiery and yet perfectly breakable. Something in her eyes told him that, something that spoke volumes of the dark shit she’d been through.

He couldn’t go there, wouldn’t be the man who dredged that up for her. He could be an ass sometimes, but he wasn’t a total asshole.

So, he held on without really trying, and said firmly, “No.”

She stopped struggling and looked at him.

Scott stared down at the sassy blond. Her smartass attitude wasn’t what surprised him. As building manager for the past year, he’d seen and heard a lot of crazy shit. “Interesting” didn’t begin to cover some of the whack-jobs who had slipped under the radar and onto his turf. So, although dealing with crazies didn’t catch him off guard, it was the rigidity in his sex that did.

It had been over an entire year since he’d felt an inkling of desire for the fairer sex. Over a whole year. That had to be some kind of record for any man who claimed to be heterosexual.

Now that she’d magically made his cock give a damn, he couldn’t help but drink in her other features.

Wide hips with a little extra padding, which gave way to a pair of snug sweatpants. The material pulled along her thighs, which he imagined were just as plump and soft looking as the rest of her. He could hold on to her soft curves while he thrust into her, making her dizzy with ecstasy.

Her breath caught, and her eyes dipped to his lips. Thanks to their tug-o-paint-can, their faces weren’t that far apart anymore.

A delicate pink tongue dipped out and licked her glossy bottom lip.

Oh fucccccckkkk. His heart sped up as his desire for her doubled.

Just when he thought she might be thinking the same lustful thoughts, she shot him a sexy little smirk that made his heart skip a beat, and purred, “Have it your way.”

Sporting uncanny swiftness, she swiped the lid off the can. In the tug-o-can, the can had shifted in his arms so the opening was tilted toward the ground. Yellow paint poured out the side and slopped onto the floor.

“Shit!” he spat as he scrambled to retrieve the lid, which she’d tossed onto the floor.

She smirked, with her hands on her hips, as even more paint poured out. It covered his hands, making them slick, and the sides of the can even more slippery. It began to slide out of his hands. Like a man crazed, he grappled for it. The desperate movements caused it to shoot out of his hands. The now half-empty can banged against the floor and rolled toward the open door.

Scott ran after it, swearing the whole time as his shoes squished in a trail of fresh paint. In his haste to retrieve the can, the toe of his shoe kicked it and sent it flying out the door.

What happened next could only be described as something that would happen in a cartoon.

Yet, there he was, standing in the doorway with his jaw nearly on his chest, and watched as the can ricocheted off the wall and bounced down the stairs. It clanked loudly down them, one at a time, throwing up paint along its path.

Neighbors opened their doors and poked their heads out. A kid laughed and splashed in the paint as if it were a puddle.

The can landed at the bottom of the stairwell, at last drawing still.

The ringing still echoed in Scott’s ears. Or maybe that was the steam that poured out of his head.

His temperature rose as his hands slowly curled into fists. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath against the rising surge of fury.

▶ Also By Lola Taylor

▶ Hot Read

▶ Last Updated

▶ Recommend

Top Books