Holly Sinclair was stunned for a moment.
The next second—
SLAP!
Without a second thought, she slapped him hard across the face.
The metallic taste of blood instantly filled his mouth, and Tristan Sterling narrowed his eyes slightly.
'She hit him again?'
'She was getting way too bold!'
Tristan Sterling pressed his tongue against the inside of his numb, stinging cheek, a hint of madness creeping into his eyes.
He was enraged.
He shot out a long arm, his large hand clamping onto the back of her head.
He yanked hard, and her face was pulled "willingly" toward his.
He kissed her again, holding nothing back.
Hard.
"Mmph…"
Holly Sinclair's eyes were red with rage, her cheeks flushed.
She balled her fists and beat against his body.
But to him, her flailing felt like little more than a tickle.
"Go on, keep hitting me!"
