Shirtless and bruised and bloody.
Shirtless and in gray sweats. Barefoot. Like what he wears when he crawls into bed with me.
I suppressed a shiver.
He was gorgeous in every way, and someone that didn’t look altogether human. Maybe it was his dead eyes? Or the mix of how pretty he looked? The extreme cut of his jawline? If I brought him home with me, Palma would die from how hot he was. Marshall would die because he’d know he couldn’t compete against Creighton. And Heath would just die, because Heath knew who Creighton really was.
Creighton wouldn’t take the risk that he’d make me feel uncomfortable in my home. He wouldn’t care that it’d been Heath’s home longer. That he knew Palma and Marshall much longer than me. He’d just care how Heath’s reaction would make me feel, and he’d do something about it.
I didn’t know I had continued crying until he closed the distance and his finger touched my cheek, soaking up another tear. He held it away. “Who do I kill for this?”
I reached out, without thinking, and took hold of his wrist, keeping his hand in front of me. My finger moved over his vein. “You’d have to kill yourself.” I waited, feeling his pulse spike as my answer registered.
He let out a soft sigh, closing the distance between us until his chest was softly grazing against mine. He brought his finger to his mouth, and he tasted my tear, his tongue sucking on his finger.
I was still a mess inside, churning and twisting andraw, but it hit me with the force of an F5 tornado. This desire for him.
I wanted him.
Now.
My hand stayed wrapped around his, and it brushed against his jawline, feeling the roughness that he hadn’t shaved away that day, but I didn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.
Everythingwas twisting inside of me.
I hated him.
But fuck him, I couldn’t kill him.
I couldn’t walk away from him.
What did I do?
He was torturing me.
I was so tired of the destruction that came along with Creighton.
I was doomed.
“Blake,” he whispered.
I growled, savagely, and my hand grabbed hold of his shirt. I fisted it.
I needed . . .
I licked my lips.
What did I need?
A voice in the back of my head told me to make him pay.
His eyes were glittering. He was smiling. And staring at me, still so close. He wiped away the rest of my tears. He leaned down, his forehead resting to mine, and he breathed out, “You have such hate in your eyes. What is wrong?”
I lifted my other hand, circling his wrist as he was holding my other wrist in place. “You. You’re what’s wrong.” And because I was suddenly burning up, I shoved his hand away from me, tearing my other wrist out of his hold. When he fell back, I moved to the side, slipping out. “Staythe fuckaway from me.”
Chapter Nineteen
Creighton
