Arranged

Rhone stood there staring at the door.
The girl - Nessa, she'd said her name was - had said he wasn't her type.
He laughed. "How ridiculous. I'm everyone's type."
She was playing with him. It was some kind of game. She was going to walk back through that door any minute now and let him have his way with her. After he made her beg, of course.
He sat back on the couch and waited.
And waited. .
And waited some more.
It was a long time before he realized she really might not come. By that time he was ready to explode in anger. Instead, he took the unopened can of pop and threw it against the far wall. It spurted open and landed with a thud on the carpet where it continued to leak its contents.
In all his eighteen years of living, no one had ever rejected him. The woman must be crazy. Or gay. Or both. There was no other explanation for it.
But the way she'd reacted to his kiss told him otherwise on the second. The fact that he would never go near a crazy person scratched out the first option.
He touched his lips as he remembered how she had tasted. Like something sweet and spicy all at the same time. He was hard instantly.
"Dammit!" He stomped his foot, wanting to break something. "Fuck this." Grabbing his water he walked out of the room, slamming the door hard behind him. He was going to find out who exactly this Nessa was and why she wouldn't sleep with him. He wouldn't rest until she was screaming.
"Not her type," he mumbled angrily as he stalked down the hallway.
It was impossible that the was not anyone's type.
And he was going to do everything in his power to prove it to her.