He was a bad boy.

He knew what to do.

Vicious pressed his lips to mine, kissing me slow and long—teasing this time—before moving away and watching me through narrowed predator eyes.

“Refreshing,” he croaked.

I nodded. A good long kiss was better than quick casual sex. He ducked his head down again for another one, deepening our kiss, and sucked on my tongue hungrily, cupping my ass with one hand firmly, and brushing my throat with his thumb with the other softly.

“Did you think about this often? Kissing me like that?” My voice was husky. I felt him nodding even though my eyes were closed. The electricity between us was tantalizing. My body begged for more of him and chased his touch, desperate to be closer.

My obsession. My muse. My enemy.

“All the fucking time, Emilia. I wanted to squeeze this ass…” He clutched my butt, pulling me to grind into his erection, his lips hunting mine with leisurely, playful kisses that both intoxicated and soothed me. “To feel these tits…” His callused thumb dragged from my neck to my collarbone and before I knew it, he kneaded my right breast through my clothes while sucking on my jaw. “To kiss these goddamned fucking lips that smiled for him.” He kissed me over and over again.

It broke me.

It revived me.

It ruined me.

I didn’t even address the subject of Dean because my ex-boyfriend seemed to have moved on just fine. After I bumped into Vicious, I’d peeked at Dean’s Facebook, my curiosity and guilt getting the better of me. I saw that he was happy, content and, unsurprisingly, a manwhore. It made me feel better, somehow. That I no longer occupied his mind.

Unlike Vicious. I was there in his head. I was there and he hated it. That’s why we were kissing right now. Because he kept telling me he hated me, but I, I didn’t believe him. Not now, anyway.

“Then why were you so hateful?” I wasn’t sure if I was mad or smitten with him. My mind zigzagged in confusion every time he was around.

His hard-on was still digging into my “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” leggings when he lowered his kisses to my breasts, ignoring me, pushing my sweater down and sucking on my nipples through my bra. I felt him pulsing next to my inner thigh, and I wanted every inch of him to fill me. Craved it. But Vicious’s expression grew serious.

“Emilia…” he warned.

“No, tell me. How the heck does it matter anymore? You got what you wanted. I left. So why don’t you put me out of my misery?”

He sighed, pulling away and boxing me in with his body, his arms on either side of me trapping me against the wall. His eyes were on the floor. “I was scarred from head to fucking toe. Physically marred. Mentally disfigured. The beatings I took from Daryl Ryler ruined me. I couldn’t take my shirt off when everyone went to the beach. I couldn’t fuck girls with the lights on. I couldn’t breathe without thinking about what a monster I was underneath my clothes, underneath my flesh. And then, there you were. Pure and scar-free, with your big kind eyes and honest smile. You were so clean, and I was filthy. I guess I wanted to dirty you up.

“Then there was the Ryler shit. I thought you’d figured out what he’d done to me. I was afraid that you were going to tell people. I couldn’t risk that, so I scared you. Then I drove you away. I’m fucked up, Emilia. I know that. I’m not asking you to fix me. It is what it is. We’ll fuck. We’ll use each other. Until one of us finds someone else they prefer.”

He wanted casual. That was fine.

He was light in a dark fog. But I knew better than everyone how bad the gorgeous dancing flames in him could burn. If I treated it as a fling, my heart would be guarded away. His too.

“Have you ever dated anyone seriously?” I practically sighed the question.

We were cooling off. His body became tense and his posture straight. We swiveled toward the exit doors and resumed our journey to the subway. I followed. To say that I was content with his explanation was a lie, but it calmed me down. A little, anyway.

“Never,” he said, emotionless. “Have you? Other than—”

“Two serious boyfriends here in New York.” I nodded, cutting into his words before he could say his name. Dean hurt him, like Vicious hurt me. I got it now.

“Mmm,” was all he said. We slipped into the subway station and were lucky enough to catch a train that had just pulled to a stop. It was packed, but I had a feeling it wasn’t the only reason he pinned me to one of the yellow walls with his whole body so that nobody else would touch me.

“Were you in love with either of them?” His lips were dancing against mine.

I shrugged. “How do you really know for sure? They were very nice.”

“I see. Nice.”

That’s all his lawyer-self needed to say to rest his case. His cocky smile stayed in place the whole train ride.

Bastard.

We made a stop by Rockefeller Plaza. I told him I wanted to see the tree and watch people ice-skate. Truth was, all I wanted was to push him a little more. Poke at his patience. See how far he was willing to go. Turns out, it was pretty darn far. Further than I’ve ever known him to go for a girl. That, in itself, stroked my ego in places that made me shiver with pleasure.

Our next stop was Thin Crushed Ice in the East Village. I’d never been to this bar before, but I always passed by it when I went to The Paint Store for painting supplies and wondered what it was like inside. So, technically, it wasn’t a favorite place of mine, but I had a feeling it was going to become one. It looked sexy and dark, with a phone booth for an entrance, leading to an open bar with exposed bricked walls, taxidermy wearing sunglasses and ties, and wooden ceilings that made it look like we were somewhere far away from New York. The place was full of hipsters despite it only being a little after six p.m. on a weekday.

Vicious slid into one of the black leather sofas inside a booth, and when I went to sit across from him, he shook his head like I was a rookie and patted the space beside him. I slid next to him, and he hooked his arm over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to smell him—really take him in—enjoying the quiet moment of having him for myself.

When I opened my eyes, he reminded me once again that this wasn’t a date.

“Drink.” He threw the cocktail menu in my general direction, grabbing his phone and checking his emails. “But not enough so that I won’t be able to fuck you on the grounds of you being too shitfaced.”

Most girls would have walked away just then. But I knew Vicious had to make up for being vulnerable at The Met, when he admitted to feeling weak. When he admitted defeat.

“With that kind of attitude, sober me wouldn’t give you the time of the day either.” I checked out the food menu and, naturally, craved every single dish. My mouth watered even though I hardly knew what half the items were. They sounded sophisticated. A mix of Asian and Mediterranean. I didn’t care what they meant, I just wanted them all in my belly.

When I lifted my head from the menu to ask him what he wanted, I found him looking at me oddly again. He’s been doing that throughout our time at the museum, but I hadn’t wanted to ruin our fun day out and ask why then.

“What?” I finally asked.

“Third base is oral, right?”

I rolled my eyes. Just when I was about to answer, the waitress approached our table. She was the mother of all hipsters, with hair like mine and enough facial piercings to pass as a human sieve. She opened her mouth to greet us, but Vicious cut her off.

“Everything.” He threw the menus her way, looking back at me, but still talking to her. “Just bring everything. Cocktails. Food. Whatever. Everything. Now go.”

My instinctive response was to get up and leave before anyone concluded that I was down with this kind of rude behavior. I was wiggling my butt toward the edge of my seat when he jerked me into his body, hard.

“What the heck?” I scowled at him.

“You never answered me.” He looked down at me, businesslike. “What does third base include? Stretching your pussy with my tongue and getting my dick sucked?”

Good. Lord.

I couldn’t believe I used to have a serious crush on this man. And I definitely couldn’t believe I’d worried about sleeping with him without having my heart broken. This was going to be easy.

“Vic,” I gritted. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know what third base is.”

“I prefer football terminology, seeing as I’m more familiar with the game. Which is why I know I’m definitely going to score tonight.”

“Smooth.” My face remained unsmiling.

“And thick,” he added. “With a slight tilt to the right.”

I was about to get up again, but then the waitress approached us with about ten glasses on her tray. Instead of leaving, I tossed down two cocktails like they were shots and swiped my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn’t exactly keeping it classy, but then my boss was probing me about oral sex. Lines were being blurred, and they were becoming blurrier with every ounce of alcohol entering my blood stream.

Vicious took a sip of a beer. Slowly. Completely in control. The hunter was always more calculated and in charge. And then there was me, flailing around like the helpless prey.