A fire burns deep within me with the need to mark her, to dirty her up, to see her painted in the red of our enemies.
My chest rumbles with a deep, hungry growl, and I close the space between us, my need taking over the few rational thoughts I might have when it comes to my angel.
I rip the covers from her body, my eyes feasting on the inches upon inches of skin I reveal as she moans in her sleep, reaching for the covers she’s lost.
I dive on her before she gets a chance to wake any further, wrap my hand around her mouth and pin her body to the mattress with my thighs over her waist.
She thrashes beneath me, her eyes flying open and a scream vibrating up her throat, smothered by my hand.
Pure hatred oozes from her eyes as she stares at me in horror, but under that, it’s impossible to miss the desire she tries so hard to fight.
She might like to pretend I’m nothing, that I’m not even in the room at times, but I know that deep down, she remembers every single second of our time together. And she wants me. She craves it. Her eyes and her body beg for it, even if her head and mouth are on a different page.