“Sophie,” he growls.
“No.”I don’t turn.If I do, I’ll break or I’ll burn.“I’m done talking.”
“Then don’t talk.”
His hand closes around my wrist before I reach the end of the hall.Hard.Claiming.Desperate in that way he only gets when he’s losing control.
I whirl on him, fury and heartbreak colliding hard enough to make my vision blur.“I’m going home.To Paradise Falls.Let go of me.”
He doesn’t.
He pulls me into the dark corner beside Royal’s room.
Irony burns my tongue.
“You think I don’t see what’s happening?”I spit.“You think I don’t feel it every time you look at that door?”
His bearded jaw clenches.“I’m looking out for the club.”
“You’re lying,” I whisper, the words breaking against his chest.
His hand slams the wall beside my head.“Say it again.”
“You’re lying.”
That’s all it takes.
He kisses me like he wants to punish me.Teeth and breath and the kind of hunger that comes from fear, not lust.I shove him back.He drags me forward.Our bodies crash, fight, fuse.It’s not love.It’s not even comfort.It’s two wounded animals tearing each other open because they don’t know what else to do.
His mouth devours mine, bruising, claiming.
I hit his chest, hard, but he only groans like pain makes him want more.
“This doesn’t fix anything,” I hiss against his lips.
“It’s not supposed to.”
He presses my back to the wall.My legs wrap around his waist before my brain can protest.He yanks my hips forward, grinding against me like he’s trying to erase every memory of Becki from the air between us.
“You’re mine,” he snarls into my throat.
“Then act like it,” I snap, dragging his belt hard enough the leather bites my palm.
His breath stutters.My name leaves his mouth like a curse.His hands slide under my shirt, rough palms, possessive, shaking.He’s shaking.Legend doesn’t shake.
I grab his hair and pull his face up to mine.“If you want me,” I whisper.“Then fucking choose me.”
He doesn’t answer with words.
He kisses me again, violent, starving, terrified.
His hips drive against mine, the friction sending a shockwave through my spine.
It’s filthy and angry and wrong.And I want him like this, raw, cornered, undone.
“Please get rid of her.I don’t care how,” I say in a hush.
But then.He slows.Just for a heartbeat.Just long enough for shame to flicker in his eyes.I feel it hit him before he speaks.He hesitates.And that hesitation is a knife.
