Excerpt of Vexed by Wren Michaels

After stripping out of the wet clothes, I wrapped the
towel around myself and wandered out to his room. On the
bed lay a white long-sleeved button-down shirt. With a
hard swallow, I dropped the towel and picked up the
shirt. Pulling it to my face, I took a long, hard sniff.
Laundry detergent. Of course. Did I think it would smell
like him?

Like he'd give you a dirty shirt to wear, Kena.

Thankful he didn't witness me in idiot-mode, I slid
myself into the shirt and was caught mid-button when he
knocked at the door.

“Are you decent?” He pushed the door open a crack.

“I'm clothed, if that's what you mean. Decent is
debatable at the moment.” Purposely leaving the top three
buttons undone, I worked my way to the bottom button as
he walked in.

He halted mid-stride and looked at me. His chest rose and
fell in quick spurts, training his eyes over me from head
to toe. Veins traversed the length of his arm as he
clenched his fists at his sides. “I don't wear underwear,
so I apologize I have no bottoms. It's all I had that was
long enough to cover you.” His position relaxed as he
leaned against the mahogany armoire.

“Anything's better than cold, sopping-wet clothes.” I ran
a finger through my hair, now slowly drying into loose
stringy curls.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened tonight?”
Folding his arms across his broad chest, bulging muscles
stretched the navy-blue fabric barely covering his
biceps.

I shook my head. “Not until I get some honesty from you,
big guy.”

With a tilt of his head, he donned a sly grin. “You
haven't asked the right questions.”

“Is this a game for you? Do you enjoy messing with
people's lives? Do you get off on some fucked-up high,
being in total control?” My fingernails burrowed into the
palm of my hand. Everything in me wanted to slap the shit
out of him and then ride him like a cowgirl.

He pushed off the dresser and walked over to me, lowering
his head coming to a stop inches from my face. “You're
the one in control and yet you refuse to acknowledge it.
You refuse to let your mind accept it. Stop playing and
start being.”

“What do you want from me?” I yelled, a little louder
than intended.

“I want you to be you. I want you to”—he stopped and
dropped his gaze to my lips, and then slowly made his way
back up to my eyes—“come back.”

“Kiss me.” The words rushed from my lips without another
thought. My heart hammered so hard in my chest I thought
it would shatter my rib cage.

His breathing quickened. A low growl rumbled in his
throat. “Don't do this to me, Kena.”

“Don't do what? You're the one doing things to me.” I
slammed my hands against his chest and he sailed across
the room, his back hitting the dresser behind him. “Shit!
I'm sorry.” I reached out for him with a trembling hand.

Fuck, I’d done it again.

He shook his head and straightened himself up. In a blur
of movement, he shot across the room and grabbed onto
either side of my shirt, yanking me up to his face. “You
want me to kiss you?”

“Yes,” I said in more of whooshing sound than a word.

He pressed his lips against my neck and his fingers
curled into the fabric of the shirt, pulling me onto my
tiptoes. “You don't even know who I am.”

“I don't care.” Words no longer made sense to me, only
his touch spoke a language I could understand.

He laughed as he pushed me against the wall. Gripping the
back of my head with the entire palm of his hand, he
splayed the other across my cheek, his thumb resting
against my jawline. Tilting my head back, he hovered his
lips over mine. “You will.”

His lips crushed against my mouth.

With a sweep of his tongue, he devoured me into a kiss
the likes of which I've never experienced before in my
life. He punished my mouth with his tongue, sliding it
over mine in a delicious dance of ecstasy and aggression.
His hold on me was not that of violence, but of passion.
The way his fingertips eased against my face, yet held me
there as if he was scared to let go, revealed a
vulnerability. He might be a man of few words who knew
how to play the vague card, but his body and actions gave
him away.

I arched into him, and he pinned me back against the wall
with his hip. Clawing at his shirt, I ripped it out of
his jeans and slid my fingers over his heated skin. A
surge of energy rushed my fingertips as they glided along
his body, electrifying me.

“Fuck, Kena,” he hissed, pulling back from the kiss.

In a movement so fast it blurred everything around me, he
shot out the door, slamming it behind him. He left me
gasping, clinging to the wall behind me just to remain
standing. My legs wobbled like Jell-O as I stumbled to
the bed and collapsed. He sucked all the air from my body
and replaced it with an ache, a driving need for more of
him.

What the hell was he?