Page 96 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

“I was avoiding you.”

“I noticed.”

He moved closer until the sink pressed cold against my lower back. The sheer size of him should have felt intimidating. Instead my pulse kicked harder in a way that annoyed the hell out of me.

“Did you know there’s a video of you online fighting a guy twice your size?” he asked, voice flat.

I had suspected as much.

“I’m fine,” I said, meeting his eyes. “It was just sparring. The bruises will be gone in a few days.”

He closed the remaining distance. Suddenly I was boxed in against the counter, his hands braced on either side of my hips without quite touching me.

“You said no more bruises.”

The guilt landed heavier when he said it out loud.

“I know,” I replied quietly.

The air between us thickened, heavy with everything we weren’t saying.

“You know,” I murmured, letting my voice drop, “this whole overprotective thing you do is starting to get dangerously hot.”

His expression didn't change. “Harper. I’m serious.”

I held his gaze and slowly ran my hands up his chest, feeling the tension coiled there.

“I know you are.”

He didn’t pull away, but his breathing changed. I leaned closer, pressing my body against his, and brushed my lips along the underside of his jaw.

“Still worried?” I whispered.

His hands flexed on the counter. “Yes.”

I kissed the spot beneath his ear, then bit down lightly. His breath hitched.

“Harper…” It came out rough, half warning, half plea.

I slid one hand into his hair and pulled his mouth down to mine. At first he stayed tense, trying to hold onto that worried edge. Then he groaned low in his throat and finally gave in, kissing me back hard, like he was angry and relieved at the same time.

When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, breathing ragged.

“When you get hurt, it scares the hell out of me,” he said, voice low and raw.

The words settled somewhere deep in my chest.

Instead of answering, I kissed him again, slower this time, teasing. My hands slid under his shirt, palms flat against his warm skin. I felt him shudder.

That was when his control snapped.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of my leggings and dragged them down my thighs along with my underwear in one rough motion. Then his hands slid under my thighs and he lifted me onto the counter. The tile was cold against my bare ass.

“Here?” I breathed, startled.

“I can’t stop,” he rasped, already fumbling with his fly.

He freed himself with impatient hands, lined up, and pushed inside me in one hard thrust. We both groaned at the feeling. Then he started moving, deep and urgent, like he needed to feel every inch of me to believe I was really okay.