“Don’t love me like this.”
The words scorch the air between us, jagged, venomous.
My nails bite into his shirt. “I don’t get to choose, Dax. I never did.”
His jaw snaps tight, teeth gritted. “You should have walked the second I left you in that kitchen. You should’ve fucking run.”
“Maybe I should have,” I snap back, my throat breaking, tears burning. “But I didn’t. Because I don’t want a man who’s untouched. I don’t want clean, easy, safe. I want you. Even broken.”
His hand slams against the counter beside my head, rattling the cracked mug. The sound ricochets through my chest.
“You don’t know what you’re saying?—”
“I do!” My voice cracks wide open, raw, ugly. “I watched you bleed. I held you while you nearly died. You think a limp scares me after that? You think your scars make me want less?”
His breathing is jagged, chest rising like it’s trying to break out of his ribs. “You deserve better.”
I shove him hard in the chest, fury pouring out of me. “Stop deciding what I deserve. You’re not God, Dax. You’re just a man who’s too fucking scared to admit he’s still alive.”
His eyes blaze. His hand shoots out, gripping my jaw, tilting my face up until all I see is the storm in his.
“You think this is alive?” His voice is guttural, wrecked. “Dragging this body around like it’s half a corpse? Waking up choking on ghosts? Wanting you so bad it fucking kills me because I’ll never be enough for you again?”
My tears spill hot, my voice shaking. “You’re already enough. You always were. And I don’t want anyone else. Not ever. Don’t you get it? You are my better.”
Something inside him shatters. I see it—the crack, the give. His mouth crashes down on mine like he’s starving, like he’s furious, like he’s trying to burn every lie off his tongue.
It’s teeth, it’s tongue, it’s pain. His kiss is a war and I lose instantly, clawing at his shirt, pulling him closer until I can’t breathe.
He growls into my mouth, low and savage, lifting me onto the counter, his body wedging between my thighs like he’s claiming territory he swore he’d never touch again.
“Fuck, Butterfly…” His forehead slams to mine, his breath ragged. “I don’t deserve this—don’t deserve you—but I can’t stop.”
“Then don’t.” My voice is wrecked, begging. “Don’t stop, Dax.”
His hands drag up my thighs, rough, desperate. His lips bruise mine, then trail down my throat, biting, sucking, marking like he’s trying to prove he still exists, prove I’m still his.
I gasp, arching into him, my nails carving lines into his back through his shirt.
“You think I care about a limp?” I choke against his ear, my voice breaking. “The only thing I care about is this—your hands, your mouth, your fucking heartbeat against mine.”
He groans like I’ve gutted him, his grip punishing, dragging me closer. “Say it again.”
“I want you.” My lips tremble, my whole body shaking. “Even broken. Especially broken. Always you.”
His hips slam forward, grinding into me through denim, his cock hard and furious, his breath wrecked against my mouth.
“Christ,” he snarls, “you’ll be the death of me.”
“Then die here,” I whisper, kissing him again, messy and wet. “Die in me.”
And then he rips my shirt, his mouth crashing back to mine, pulling me into him like he’s never letting go again.
He doesn’t give me space to breathe. Doesn’t give me a second to think.
One second I’m pressed against the counter, my hands clawing at his shirt, my mouth ruined by his kiss—the next, he’s scooping me up like I weigh nothing.
I gasp, half a sob, half a moan, clinging to him as his arms lock around me. His lips don’t leave mine, not for air, not for mercy. Every step he takes toward the bedroom is punctuated by a kiss, a bite, a growl that vibrates straight down my spine.
