corners me against the wall of liquor shelves behind us as if he owned the damned place.
“You are something else, you know that, little girl?” he growls, his chest heaving against mine.
Standing up to his full height, Finn really is a sight to behold. Unfortunately, I’m unable to appreciate all of him at the moment. My neck is craned so far back that the strain of it is actually painful. He’s twice my size, both in height and in width, but if he thinks he intimidates me, he’s got another thing coming. I’ve dealt with far worse than pretty boy here.
“Stone, you okay? Do you need me to pull that motherfucker out of there?” Lamar asks, promptly leaving his post at the door and walking toward the bar, ready to earn his bouncer paycheck.
There are a few curious eyes on us, but none of them are too concerned for my welfare. That’s because they know I can handle shit just fine on my own.
I hold out my hand, halting Lamar’s next step, and with resolve stitched into my expression, I state evenly, “I’ve got this one, Lamar. I’m good.”
Finn lets out a little arrogant scoff but doesn’t break eye contact with me for a second. From my peripheral vision, I watch Lamar go back to his post, all the while keeping one eye on us, just in case I have to tap out and let him deal with the heathen of a man before me.
Never going to happen. Like I said, I got this.
Most of the privileged brats who attend Richfield are all bark and no bite, and Finn is no different. The minute someone stands up to him, he’ll shrivel back into his little shell, running away with his tail between his legs and licking his wounds because a girl from the Southside got the best of him. He has an ego as inflated as his hatred of being challenged. Sad thing is, I’ve dealt with this brand of intimidation before—bullies relying on their size and not their brains to terrorize the weak. Someone should have warned him that I might be small, but I’ve got a damn big mouth ready to sling bricks and stones where it’ll do the most damage.
“Okay, pretty boy. You got my attention. Now what are you going to do with it?” I taunt, not one bit threatened by his size or his imposing form.
Finn’s brows push together on his forehead, revealing his confusion. His perplexed glare isn’t as irritating as witnessing him lose a bit of the angry steam that was fueling his drive.
So disappointing.
He’s already unraveling, and all I had to do was to give him a little nickname. I watch his Adam’s apple bob, his eyes still fixed on mine, and I have to give him props for not taking advantage of peeking down my shirt. Most guys here have gone to far greater lengths to see the goods, so I commend Finn on his restraint at least.
“Cat got your tongue, pretty boy?” I tease him again with his own line, biting my lower lip, triggered by the flicker of the furious fire in his eye ready to lash out.
“You talk too much,” he finally grunts and my smile only grows wider at the poor excuse of a comeback he came up with.
“Oh yeah? And how do you propose to shut me up?” I provoke, unimpressed, but before I have time to chastise him any further, he takes the wind out of my sails when he grabs the back of my head and presses his lips forcefully on mine.
Every other time an asshole dared to put his hands on me without my say so, he’d have been kneed in his family jewels so fast he’d need surgery to see his dick again. But my knee-jerk reaction is nowhere in sight because Finn’s warm lips come as a surprise to me in more ways than one.
His plump, rich mouth dominates my own, his tongue teasing my lower lip in a way that leaves me helpless not to open up and let him take whatever he wants. But Finn doesn’t take my red-carpet invitation as I expected. Instead, he leaves me frustrated, using his teeth to scrape at my lower lip and then extinguish the tiny ache by sucking on it with his full, luscious mouth. His kiss is a combination of both brutish dominance and alarming tenderness. His lips promise wicked, dirty adventures, while his tongue toys with me, hinting that I’m