Tangled Extra Scenes (Tangled #1.1)

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07.03.2019

Hold on. Back the hell up. I am an extremely respectful person. Always. Even to my do-me-once-and-don’t-ever-talk-to-me-agains—I was a goddamn gentleman.

“What are you talking about? How do I disrespect you?”

Her tone is clipped. Accusing. “You’ve never once changed the toilet paper roll.”

She’s kidding, right? Seriously. Tell me she’s f**king with me.

“And how exactly does me not changing the toilet paper roll disrespect you?”

Her face goes blank, like she’s shocked that I don’t immediately understand the insanity that is her.

“Well, who do you think is going to change it?”

“Uhh…I don’t?”

She spreads her arms out, like I just said the magic words.

“Exactly.”

I pinch my nose. Maybe if I stem the flow of blood to my brain, I’ll pass out.

She goes on, “You don’t think about it at all! You just assume, ‘Oh Kate will do it. She’s got nothing better to do’…”

I put my hand up, cutting her off. “No, no—I don’t think that! If I need toilet paper and it’s there, I use it. If it’s not, I improvise.”

Her face wrinkles. “Well, that’s just disgusting.”

So this is what it feels like to be stuck in quicksand. You kick and struggle…but you just keep on sinking.

“You know what? Okay, fine. You’re right. I’ll change the toilet paper roll from now on. Problem solved.”

But apparently it’s not.

She folds her arms. “I don’t want to be right, Drew. I don’t want you to change the toilet paper roll because I’m yelling at you. I want you to want to change the toilet paper roll.”

Okay—now I start laughing. I just can’t help it.

“Why the f**k would anyone want to change the toilet paper roll!”

She looks offended. Highly. “For me. For me, Drew! You know, I happen to like doing things for you because I love you. But only if you appreciate it. When it just becomes…expected…then I feel degraded. And it makes me not want to do things for you!”

Her lips are moving. I know she’s trying to tell me something.

What it is? No clue.

“I don’t even know what that means!”

She points her finger at me. And hops up and down. “Yes, you do! You’re just purposely not seeing my point to drive me crazy.”

No, I’m really not. Because judging from this conversation? She’s already there.

And then a thought occurs to me. “Are you on the rag?”

Her mouth opens wide. And you might want to take a step back, because I think her head might actually explode.

She grabs the nearest thing she can reach—a picture of us on vacation two months ago—and flings it at my head. Frisbee style. Lucky for me, she’s got bad aim. The shelf behind me? Not so lucky.

Smash.

“Why is it that whenever a woman is justifiably upset, the guy always blames it on PMS?”

Please. I’ve been on the receiving end of Alexandra’s premenstrual-induced psychosis often enough to recognize the signs.

“Oh, I don’t know…could it be because it usually is the reason?”

That’s when Kate starts to pummel me.

With both fists.

Like a kindergartener going to the mat over his favorite color crayon.

“You…are…such…a…jerk!”

Somewhere in between the second and the fifth punch, my dick peeks out from where he’s been hiding since the beer bath to reevaluate the situation. To see if there’s any way to turn this sorry state of affairs into something…a little more to his liking.

He thinks there is. And so I grab Kate’s wrists and back her up against the wall, holding her hands over her head.

Restrained—such a nice look for her.

Her chin is high, and her eyes are blazing. “I so don’t like you right now!”

I smirk. “I’m sensing that.”

She twists and pulls but can’t get free. Like some beautiful, exotic fish caught in a net.

“You’re an insensitive prick.”

I lean in, pressing the lower half of our bodies together. “I resent that. My prick happens to be extremely sensitive. Wanna see?”

Kate catches on to what’s coming and opens her mouth to protest. Which works well for me. I swoop in and cover her lips with mine. She tries to turn her head away, but I grab her chin and hold it tight. Which allows her to take one newly freed hand and bury it in my hair.

Before yanking with all of her motherfucking might.

I lift my mouth from hers. “Feisty. I appreciate you trying to make things more interesting, but it’s really not necessary.”

And then I’m at her neck, nipping and sucking, working my way down to her cle**age. Kate slaps at my shoulder, but there’s no real effort behind it. Which means I’m wearing her down.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I’m sure you are.”

I rest my nose against her skin, inhaling deeply. Then I take one nipple in my mouth—over her dress—and suckle it hard.

See, Kate’s br**sts are kind of like start buttons. No matter how tired or moody she may be, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick.

Her head slams back against the wall. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We have ignition.

I grip her knee and hoist it up around my waist, lining us up, and grind against her. And despite my soaked clothes, I can feel how hot she is.

Turned on.

“You’re a bastard.”

I chuckle. “So you’ve said.”

I kiss her again, our tongues tangling in their own sensuous battle. Then I slide my hand between us, down her panties. She’s slick and smooth. Velvet wetness. When I push two fingers inside her, her voice changes. It’s all breathy and moaning—not a trace of pissed-offness to be heard.

“God…Drew…”

And then she’s pulling me against her and kissing me back with all she’s got. Telling me without words what I’ve known all along: horny and angry are a fabulous combination.

I push my shorts down and drag both of her legs up around me. Pressing her into the wall.

But just as I’m about to slide into home, Kate puts her palm against my forehead and pushes it back.

“Wait…no…wait…”

What? Wait? I hate waiting.

“What?”

Even though she’s panting, her eyes are round and dark with…worry.

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