Page 97 of Drowning in Darkness

“And?”

“I was wrong.”

“Is that good?”

“Depends on your viewpoint. I thought it was a fluke, a first-time adrenaline rush.”

He shakes his head. “But it’s not.”

“No.”

“You’re killing me. I’ve told you I’m not good for you. I’m not good for anyone.”

“I disagree.”

“You are just needy, frustrated, and looking for connection, and I’m just the nearest person.”

I frown. “You don’t honestly believe that.”

He shrugs. “Take the edge off and let me know if you still feel the same way.”

He’s pushing me away and trying to piss me off to put a dampener on my desire. Idiot. I’m not stupid, and it’s his error if he tries to treat me as such.

“Then take me back to town, and I’ll take that dude up on his offer.”

He pins me in place with his eyes, unblinking as he wrestles with the mess he just backed himself into. It’s not my fault he keeps underestimating me.

“Fine, get in the truck. Let’s go.”

Great. We’re going to play a proverbial game of chicken. I grew up with an older brother—I know how to win this blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back. Hopefully both.

I shove his chest. “Give me ten.”

He steps back, releasing me to walk away. I grab the box of nail polish, makeup, and bag of new clothing before disappearing into my bedroom.

I emerge seven minutes later, hair tamed into a braid, dressed in a pale blue shirt dress with a pair of tall suede boots. My nails are painted siren red, matching my lipstick. A war color.

I find him sitting on the sofa, tapping away on his laptop. “Ready,” I call out, not bothering to face him.

He’s up and in front of me a hair’s breadth later, blocking the front door. I tilt my head as he skims me from head to toe. “Chop, chop, Jeeves. I need to find someone to take the edge off, remember?”

“I’m going to hell,” he mutters. He wraps his arms around my waist and picks me up. Our lips crash together, and this time, there’s no restraint, no hesitation as he gives into this need. If he’s going to hell, then I’m going with him.

“I don’t do soft, sweetheart,” he growls. He drops my ass on the dining table and drags me close, parting my thighs to press himself against my drenched and heated core. I hiss at the contact, but it’s not enough.

“I don’t want soft.”

He grips the top of the dress and tears it, sending the buttons flying across the room. His hungry eyes skate over my breasts encased in cream silk. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

“You were pretty clear earlier. I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

“You think⁠—”

My hand fists his hair, and I hold him hostage with my gaze. “I want to claw your back, because you are walking me on the knife edge of pleasure and pain. I want your teeth on my neck. I want it dirty, rough. I want to be consumed so my only thoughts are more, harder, faster.”

My free hand skates up the back of his T-shirt, my nails doing what I promised.

He hisses and one hand cradles my head before he pushes backward. My spine slams against the unforgiving wood, but he cushions my head. It just confirms what I already know—he can be rough and still take care of me.