“You can deny it all you want, but you feel something. You’re feeling something right now and you hate me for it.”
“Shut up.”
A small smile of achievement twitches at her lips.
“Just shut up.”
“Why? Can’t handle the truth? Well, let me fill you in on something I’m sure you’re already well aware of. You don’t get to choose. In life, shit just happens that we have zero control over. And this, this right here, us… whatever this is, I didn’t choose it any more than you did. But that doesn’t mean I can fucking stop.”
I bare my teeth as I stare at her, desperate to make her stop, to stop her saying all those words that are so fucking true they affect me all the way down to my toes.
I never got a choice. Everything was forced on me.
“But I’m here right now by choice. I could have left, but I didn’t. Because you’re hurting. Now you get to make a choice.”
I quirk a brow at her.
“You get to decide what happens next. Want to kill me? Fine. It’s not like anyone would really notice.” Pain flashes across her face, only feeding my need to know her secret. “Want to fuck me? Then what are you waiting for? I’m right here for the taking.”
“What happened with Conner?”
“Conner? You want to talk about Conner?” She lets out a small sigh.
“Did. Something. Happen?” My teeth grind at the idea of the two of them together, my grip on my knife tightening, my control slipping.
“Would you really care?” Indignation flares in her eyes. “Maybe I should have let something happen… Conner doesn’t want to hurt me.”
I lift my knife, and this time her eyes focus on it. “No, he only wants to hurt me.” The blade slices through the front of her bra with ease, allowing her breasts to spill out—but not before I nick her skin. A small droplet of blood appears and my eyes focus on it, regret mixing with my need to hurt someone.
She wants to shout at me, I can see it swelling in her heated eyes, but she doesn’t.
“So stop giving him the power to,” she says, like it’s an easy thing to fix. But every time he so much as goes near her, I swear he’s doing it on purpose to push my buttons. A pathetic attempt to make me pull my head out of my ass.
“I would, but she keeps running to him.” I crash my lips to hers before she even manages to think about a response. Forcing my tongue into her mouth, it duels with hers as we both try to take what we need. My hands lift, pushing her ruined bra from her shoulders and letting it hit the floor before I take her breasts in my hands.
Her groan of pleasure vibrates through me, making me impossibly hard for her. My fingers twitch to push her to her knees, to take from her like I used to take from the girls in the Heights, but she’s not them. The need to push my cock past her swollen lips, to watch her take it all while tears stream from her eyes is almost too much to bear.
“Fuck,” I bark, pulling back from her, dropping my knife to the floor and lifting my hands to my hair.
Spinning around, I find the bottle of vodka I swiped from downstairs, twisting the top, I take a generous shot, followed swiftly by another.
It doesn’t help one bit.
“Fuuuuuck,” I shout into the silence of my room.
I know she’s exactly where I left her—I can feel her stare burning into my back, but she doesn’t move.
Not yet, at least.
Long seconds pass as I stare down at my feet, my shoulders drop in defeat.
I’m such a fucking mess.
She breaks the silences after long, excruciating minutes, her voice making me flinch. “Tell me what you need.”
“More than I’m willing to take.”
“Says who? You think I can’t handle you, Cole? You’re wrong.” She walks up to me, her tiny palms slamming down on my shoulders, forcing me to act. Her green eyes stare up into mine as if she can read all the pain