Fury by Jenika Snow

around his lean waist.
    The
only light on was the one that came from the kitchen and living room. It was
the backdrop for this heated encounter, and yet she was the one that felt like
she was burning alive. Fury wasn’t even looking at her yet, not with the small
towel over his head as he dried off his hair.
    Her
heart raced, her body reacting instantly to the sight of him in nothing but a
towel slung low on his hips. There were beads of water still on his hard,
tattooed and muscular chest, and she curled her hands into tight fists at her
sides. She knew she should just keep going, to keep her head down and her
thoughts clean. But God, she was still on edge from the orgasm he gave her,
which now seemed like it had been ages ago. There was something darkly addictive
about Fury, and something twisted about herself, that had Angelina wanting him
so damn much.
    A
light sheen of perspiration formed between her breasts, her breathing
quickened, and her nipples grew hard. Her pussy was wet, had been from the
moment she stood at the sink washing dishes and thought about Fury touching
her.
    I should keep walking, and not act
like I want him.
    But
all she could do was stare. He took a step out of the bathroom and into the
hallway. And then he removed the towel from his head and looked right at her.
The fact he didn’t appear surprised to see her had Angelina wondering if Fury
had known she’d been standing here the whole time.
    They
stood there, neither speaking nor moving, and then he moved closer to her until
he was a foot from her. The smell of him, darkly rich, clean, and intoxicating,
washed over her. The need to just close her eyes and sway toward him ran strong
in her, but she needed to show him he didn’t affect her, that she wasn’t this
fucked up little girl that wanted the man that had kidnapped her.
    You’re not a captive anymore.
    He
was so big and tall, so intense and dangerous. Maybe that’s why she wanted him
the way she did? His masculinity and testosterone surrounded her, rivaled any
other man she’d ever been around. He didn’t move, just looked down at her with
his eyes at half-mast. Angelina swallowed, knowing the smart thing to do was to
leave this place, to run from him, yet she didn’t want that.
    Like
she was someone else, Angelina found herself lifting her hand, maybe to touch
him, or maybe to push him away. But she chickened out at the last moment and
curled her nails into her palm, about to move her hand back to her side. As if
he anticipated the act, Fury grabbed her wrist in a firm, unmoving hold. She
couldn’t think, let alone breathe. He placed her hand on his chest, right over
his heart. His skin was warm, smooth, and the steady beat of his heart right
under her palm told her he was calm, collected. She, on the other hand, felt
like her heart would explode right through her chest. Was he so unaffected by
her?
    She
licked her lips and saw Fury’s gaze dip down to watch the motion. She wanted to
be pressed up against him, wanted to have her mouth on his, but she was too
afraid, to too nervous to even move.
    But
before Angelina could react in any way, Fury let go of her wrist and took a
step back. But they were still so close together, and the scent of him washed
through her, making Angelina feel drunk.
    “I…”
Angelina had no idea what she should say. Fury was raw, animalistic sex appeal,
and she was helpless to stop herself from succumbing to it.
    He
moved an inch closer once more, and she pressed herself against the wall,
feeling trapped, but loving it, as well. And when he was close enough that she
felt his erection dig into her belly, this whimpering sound left her on its
own. He lowered his head until their lips were mere inches apart, and then he
closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
    “Mmm,
you smell really fucking good.” His voice was low and so deep. Fury slowly
opened his eyes, the darkness of them drilling holes right into her soul.
    Their
breaths mingled together as their gazes