“Stop it,” I tell him, my voice firmer than I feel. “Stop doing that. Stop talking sweet and acting fake.”
His nostrils flare, the only sign that my words have hit their mark. The false smile vanishes, replaced by a flat, dangerous line. The air in the room crackles, growing thick and hard to breathe.
“Can you handle me when I’m not acting, Haven?” he asks, the question a soft, menacing whisper.
Before I can form an answer, he moves. In a blur of motion, he’s suddenly here, his body a solid weight that flattens me against the mattress. The breath leaves my lungs in a softwhoosh. He crawls over me, caging me in, his arms braced on either side of my head.
The scent of him fills my senses. My heart hammers against my ribs in a panic that’s only slight because something deeper, something impossible, is rising to meet it.
This man is dangerous in all ways possible. Yet, I need to push, to see what I’m dealing with here.
I lift my chin, meeting his stormy gaze head-on. My lip wobbles as my breathing trembles. “I’m not scared of you.”
He leans down until his lips are barely an inch from my ear. His breath is hot and shaky, like he’s not aware of just how worked up he is. The low rumble that leaves him in the form of his chuckle stills my heart as he accepts my lie as a truth to continue this.
“You should be.”
6
Ripper
This woman loves pushing my buttons. I don’t know how she does it, but she sees right through the bullshit, right down to the rot.
My lips ghost over the smooth skin of her throat, and I feel it—the frantic, betraying thud of her pulse under my mouth. My pretty little liar.
The lie is so sweet it makes my teeth ache. There was a time when the scent of fear followed me like a shadow. I learned how usefulfearis.
Everyone had the good sense to be terrified. Everyone but Judge.
He saw potential in the feral, vicious person I was—a weapon I was happy to be. We rose together through blood and broken knuckles. But once he had power, he needed a diplomat, someone charming. He no longer needed the weapon; it hadto be sheathed. So I learned to smile, say the right words, and instead of fighting to release my inner rage, I learned to fuck.
And now here she is, poking at the box I locked that weapon in.
It’s infuriating. It’s a fire in my gut. Can’t she see what she’s doing to me? The control I’ve spent years building is cracking, and all she does is look at me with those wide eyes, talking about my scars like they’re something to mourn for.
My eyes drop to the mark on her neck, the faint bruise I left earlier. The sight of it, my brand on her skin, makes my thoughts spiral into a whirlwind. There’s a demand that I make her mine, not just for a reckless night, but for an eternity.
She wants the real me? She has no idea what she’s asking for.
I stiffen when I feel the soft touch of her fingertips against the back of my neck. It’s a soothing stroke, but it doesn’t provide any relief. It only makes my body burn hotter.
Lifting, I stare down at her. Hoping she’ll tell me to get off her, or demand I leave, she doesn’t.
Her mouth is frowning, such a defiant curve. Feeling like our kisses shared earlier were a lifetime ago, I almost cave to the thought of feeling them again.
It’s impossible to think when she’s touching me. I grab her hand and pull it away.
“There’s only one place I’m hurting, Haven, and it’s got nothing to do with some old wounds.” Squeezing her fingers and stealing her warmth, I flatten her hand against my chest and drag it down my stomach.
The hitch in her breathing assures me that she’ll yank away, but she’s stubborn, allowing her curiosity to keep up with my frustration.
Swallowing down a groan when her palm hits denim, my jaw tightens as her palm reaches my constant arousal. “You’ve done your own damage.”
Then it happens.
A flush, a slow, creeping pink that blooms across her cheeks and stains the skin of her throat. Her eyes, wide and searching, drop to where her hand is pressed against me. She gives an experimental, hesitant squeeze.
My hips jerk involuntarily, a sharp, helpless thrust against her palm, and a low, ragged groan is torn from my lips before I can stop it.
