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“But you wanna keep throwin’ it in my face.” Pulling his gun from his waistband, he held the barrel and offered me the grip. “You’re that pissed, take it. Press it to my fuckin’ skull. Use it to jack the van and go home.”
Keeping my eyes on him, I reached out and slowly wrapped my fingers around the gun.
There was no flash of surprise or fear. No regret or sudden move to snatch it back.
He didn’t even blink.
I set it on the dresser. “You’re a psycho.”
“Yeah, but I’m your psycho. Trust you with my life, O. But,” he threw an arm out toward the door, “this shit isn’t about me. I couldn’t risk you running again and telling someone ‘cause you’re pissed at me.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
I crossed my arms. “So I’m supposed to trust you, but you don’t trust me?”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m in this. But at the first sign of trouble, you got your boots on, ready to run. How am I supposed to trust you when you think, even for a second, I’m like that motherfucker?” His voice was thick as he gritted out, “You think I pimp out whores? Get ‘em hooked on smack and crank and whatever else they can pop, snort, or shoot and then turn ‘em out ‘til there’s nothing left. You think I’m that kinda man, O?” He stepped closer, not stopping until my back hit the wall and he was cupping me between my thighs. “That the kinda man you let own this pussy?”
“No, I know you don’t,” I said honestly, feeling like an idiot and an asshole.
“But you do think I’m the kinda scumbag that’d fuck another bitch a couple rooms over then climb back into bed with you. Good to know.” Hands to the wall at either side of my head, he dipped down so his face was all I could see. “Real fuckin’ good to know where I stand with you, princess.”
His words were like razor blades and the hurt lacing them was the salt.
“You get quiet,” I blurted.
His head went back a little. “What?”
“After we have sex, you get quiet. We went from zero to sixty, I got scared you were having second thoughts.”
“I kept my damn mouth shut ‘cause if I opened it, I’d tell you I’m so outta my fuckin’ head in love with you, it’s pathetic. Didn’t want you to get freaked and bolt.”
The logical part of my brain wanted to point out that it’d only been a week. Argue that he couldn’t love me after such a short time.
But I took a page from his book and kept my mouth shut.
Judge filled the silence. “I’d tell you that, first chance I get, I’m putting my ring on your finger and my baby in you. That it gets me hard as fuck to think about.” Emphasizing his point, he took my hand and pressed it where his hard-on strained against his jeans before yanking it away. “I’d tell you I’m so hooked on you, I’m not letting go. And that if Nash or any other motherfucker wants to take you from me, they’ll have to put a bullet through my thick skull first.” He stepped back and held his arms out. “So you wanna leave, princess, you can do the same and go.”
I didn’t move for his gun or the door.
Because I didn’t want to go.
“That’s what I thought,” he growled, closing the distance between us. His fingers wrapped around my ribs, pinning me to the wall. He held my jaw, forcing my mouth open so he could attack.
Dominate.
Deepen, taste, feel.
And I clutched his shirt and his hair, giving back as good as I got.
Our tongues battled for supremacy.
We owned each other.
We submitted to each other.
We belonged to each other.
