“I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention,” his eyes flick to mine, something sharp passing through them.“It wouldn’t matter either way, because I’d sooner kill you myself than let you go.”
“There’s nowhere I want to go!” I try to shout out, against the gasp in my throat from his fingers still pulling at my hair.
I open my mouth to answer, to argue again, but I don’t get the chance.
His other hand that isn’t tangled in my hair is at my throat, his thumb pressed just below my jaw, and his lips are on mine, hard, consuming, like he’s trying to erase the conversation altogether.
It’s not tenderness, it’s control. But maybe, for Hayden, they’re the same thing. It’s everything he can’t say, poured into the press of his mouth, the rough drag of his fingers, the way he breaks the silence without ever offering the truth.
And I let him. I let him force me to take any little fucked feeling he’ll give me, desperate and wanting for more.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his hand still at my throat, his breath hot against my cheek. Looking a little less wild, a bit more in control.
“Don’t push me like that again.”
His voice is quiet and full of a calm that means something’s about to snap.
“You have no idea what I can do to you.”
His thumb presses under my jaw, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold me still.
“You keep digging, keep testing me like this…” he leans in, his mouth brushing my ear. “I’ll break something in you you’ll never be able to repair.”
He says it like he’s already considered it. Like part of him wants to.
“Then break me, please, I’m begging you,” I huff out against his palm, trying to create some friction between where we’re joined. I’m bare underneath the t-shirt, and the feeling of rubbing myself along his black belted slacks is intoxicating.
I could cry at how he watches me. There’s no softness, just possession, just truth.
“I don’t owe you anything,” his grip stays there as a reminder. “Why else do you think I fuck you like the bratty whore you are?”
“You’re a liar,” I say, eyes locked on him. “You say you don’t owe me anything, but that’s not why you won’t tell me things. It’s because you’re afraid.”
His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t move. I can’t believe I’ve accused him of fear. I know I'm pushing too hard. Too far.
But I don’t look away. I won’t.
“You act like you hate what this is,” I whisper. “But you need it. You needme.And that scares you more than anything you’ve done.”
Still, he says nothing. He just stares, like he’s trying to decide whether to kiss me again or crush me completely.
And maybe, deep down, he doesn’t know the difference.
“You’re being mouthy,” he mutters, gaze dark, unreadable. “You think it’s going to earn you a fucking you’d enjoy?”
His thumb drags along my jaw, slow, calculating.
I nod a little too eagerly.
“It won’t, and I’m losing my patience with you, Darling.”
I open my mouth to answer, but he cuts me off, fingers tightening around my throat, stealing my breath from me.
“I didn't say you could speak.”
His tone is low and dangerous in its calm.
