Come have a word with this guy because he has no business sounding so infuriatingly hot when he’s bossy and controlling.
“Yeah,” I murmur and attempt to smile. “Can you let me go now?”
“Quit that fucking habit of smiling when you’re uncomfortable. You’re not a bloody doll.”
How…the helldoes he know that?
I’ve perfected my fake smile so well that no one can read through it, so why can he?
The act has become so subconscious that I don’t pay it any attention anymore.
So why does he?
A cloud of disapproval cloaks around him like a second skin as he presses closer, the length of his body crushing against mine. “Tell me, Annika. Why haven’t you answered any of my calls or texts?”
My chest saturates with a carnal urge that even I can’t put a name to, and I have to clear my throat to be able to speak. “You know, it was crazy after the fire, and Jeremy kind of confiscated my freedom.”
“He didn’t confiscate your phone, which you used to talk to everyone else but me just fine.”
Shit.
Considering his nature, I was so sure that he wouldn’t focus on that detail, so I didn’t pay attention to that angle.
Apparently, that was a mistake.
His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my wrists and the rich timbre of his voice lowers further. “Answer me.”
“Feels bad to be left on Read, doesn’t it?” I deflect, grabbing onto my composure with bloodied fingers.
“Don’t fuck with me.”
“What? I didn’t realize you were the only one with Read privileges. I thought I’d try and see how it feels, and it’s safe to say, your reaction kind of sucks. Might keep it up if I’m in the mood. Also, can you speak without touching me?”
He grips me tighter, not only disregarding my last request, but also doing the exact opposite. I’m assaulted by his otherworldly presence, striking warmth, and addictive scent all while trying to remain unaffected.
Chances of actually succeeding? In the negative.
“What are you playing now, little purple?”
My heart and mind war for an appropriate reaction to his words. A part of me wants to pull out of this charade, save everyone the trouble and bury myself in my bubble.
But the other part, the part that falters at the little purple nickname, claws and bangs, demanding to be set free.
“Can you remove the little before purple?”
“Youarelittle.” His fingers flex on my flesh and the air shimmers with his assertive intensity.
“I’m going to be eighteen soon, you know.”
“It’s not about your age.”
“Then…what is it about?”
His eyes shift, growing hot as he rakes them over my face and heaving chest. “You’re so small and breakable that I’m always craving to bite, bruise, mark, and pound the fuck out of your tiny cunt while you cry because you can’t take it anymore.”
I should be a lot of things right now, including horrified, petrified, creeped out, but standing here so shamelessly hot and embarrassingly wet is definitely not one of them.
Damn him and his surprisingly dirty mouth. It’s like I’m getting to know a completely different Creighton.