on the back of my door and grabbed a handful of underwear to shove into the bag.
"Pervert much? Should I just tell Matteo to call you the panty thief?" I asked, and he gave me a single bland look before reaching back in for a second handful. "Do me a favor? Leave the vibrator, Big Boy. I'm going to need it, and I ain't going with you."
He took a handful of shirts, and I studied the motion more than I wanted to as he shoved them into the bag unceremoniously. "Carina," he warned on a growl. "I promise, you will never need that again."
“If only that were true,” I mumbled, crossing my arms over my chest and arching a brow at him.
He plucked it out of the box, getting oddly intimate with my vagina for a stranger, and tossed it into the garbage bin on the other side of the room. Then without another warning, he moved on to my shorts and pants and shoved some of those into the bag for good measure. "Stop it," I hissed, my voice nearly betraying the panic I felt. The thought of my things being so dislocated from where they belonged made my heart race in my chest. He ignored it and didn't seem to notice the genuine distress that I tried to disguise, but my eyes never left the bag in his hand.
Not until he tossed a pair of sweatpants at me.
"Put them on. Can't have you freezing your fine ass off on my bike," he ordered, snapping me out of my trance the slightest bit, as I glanced down at the pants in my hand.
"Excuse me?" I wanted to deny the flattery I felt that the man thought I had a fine ass. Considering he was walking sex, that comment was okay with me.
Mostly.
He closed the distance between us, and my instincts took over as my panic rose. When his hand reached for the sweatpants, my right hand whipped out to shove it away with the heel of my palm. Dropping the sweats, I struck with my left, barely missing his chin when he jerked his head back with some of the fastest reflexes I'd seen in all my years working at the gym. Considering I trained with professional boxers, it wasn't a compliment I gave lightly.
Instead of being pissed off by my display of violence, he grinned and knelt in front of me. Snatching up the sweats, I was momentarily disoriented by the sight of those intoxicating hazel eyes staring up at me. Of the twist to his lips with his face so close to my breasts.
He snatched up my foot and shoved it through one of the holes in the pants before I snapped out of it. Tearing it out of his hands, I stumbled when he didn't let go and lost my balance. He moved quickly, like some kind of devil, impossibly fast. By the time I was trying to vault myself off the floor, he'd already gotten my other foot in the pants and tugged them up my legs while I squirmed.
I trained women how to fight a man trying to take her pants off.
I'd never thought of a scenario where one might try to put them on, and I didn't know what the hell to do with that. Kicking out, I tried to catch him in the face, but he caught my foot in his hand and shoved a boot on without bothering with a sock.
That alone was wrong on so many levels.
"Let go of me, you tit stain!" I snapped, trying to kick him with my other foot. He repeated the process and gathered up my jacket off the back of my bedroom door while I pushed up to my feet.
This was ridiculous. I was not a weakling. I wasn't pathetic.
How he maneuvered my body to do what he pleased when I wanted the opposite was beyond me. It didn't take him long to slip my jacket on and zip me up while I stared up at him. "What the fuck are you?" I whispered.
"Yours," he murmured, touching my cheekbone briefly as I stood there in shock. Once he'd zipped me up, he grasped me around the waist and slung me over his shoulder while I kicked. My tote draped over his shoulder, he turned and left my bedroom in his wake. Strolling past the mess in my living room, he nabbed the keys off the rack and switched off the lights as he went