That tattoo.
Those eyes.
A smirk on his face. “Hey, you.”
NINETEEN
GRAYSON
She chooses violence.
I let her.
“You asshole!” she screams.
I brace for her storm of emotions as she launches into me, throwing wild swings.
It’s borderline adorable.
I wear her wrath; I anticipated as much. My primal need to hunt and claim her always had to have consequences.
And yet, beneath her fury, beneath the shattered fear still trembling through her limbs, her body remembers.
The way we move together. The way our chemistry snaps and crackles like a live wire. The way she’s always belonged to me, even before she knew it.
Her swings slow. Her breath stutters. Her hands shake as they crash against my chest one last time.
I step forward.
She steps back.
Again. And again. Until her spine meets the door.
I reach under her ass, lifting her. As much as her tears, her pleas, and flailing arms disprove my action, her legs clamp around me.
I push my body weight into her. Grabbing her wrists with both hands, I hold them restrainedabove her head.
“Please,” she whispers, and it’s not just fear in her voice now.
There’s something else.
Something darker. Something dangerous.
Something that’s wanting. “Baby, look at me.”
She purses her lips together, squeezing her eyes closed, shaking her head. Our chests are rising and falling in unison, my face hovering within an inch of hers. Just as she commands me, my body commands her. Her back arches instinctively into me without her consent.
“It’s me. It’s always been me.”
A sharp gasp. Then her lips part, and her eyelashes flutter. A beat later, her eyes open, looking first at my mouth before trailing up where our eyes meet. A myriad of emotions flash through them as she returns my gaze. I caress her cheek with my thumb, wiping away a tear.
“I should hate you,” she bites out.
I nod, breathing in her scent. “You should.”
“You've gotmassiveissues.”
“Too many to count,” I agree. My gaze lowers to her lips. I want to bite them.
