Almost instantly, her entire body tenses, and she averts her eyes. She’s hiding something, I’ve known it for a while now. Something happened, something she doesn’t want me to know. She doesn’t trust me, and that’s fucking fair after what I’ve put her through. So, as much as it’s killing me to know, I won’t force it out of her, but I want her to tell me.
“IthoughtI was repaying a favor,” she sniffs, lifting her chin back up to glare at me while crossing her arms across her chest. “You’re not entitled to know everything about me.”
I close the gap between us until only inches separate us. She could back up, but she doesn’t, holding her ground.
“No, I’m not,” I agree. Her eyes pierce into me. And I speak quieter, softer this time. “But I’m asking you; I want to know this.”
She’s so close. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming.
“Like I said, I don’t have a boyfriend; I don’t haveanyone, okay? Are you happy now?” There’s a defiant gleam in her eye as she glares up at me. She’s unknowingly dancing on the fragile edge of my self-control. Neither of us moves.
“Why do you even care?” she asks, finally, when I don’t answer her, too busy fighting myself. Her voice is barely audible, even though I’m inches away from her.
It’s a question I don’t have an answer for. I know, because I’ve been asking myself the same goddamn thing every single day for weeks now, since the warehouse, since I saw her inWonderland… since that night in the club five years ago, if I’m being honest.
I don’t have an answer.
So instead, I kiss her.
My eyes drop to her mouth a split-second before I move in, cupping her face in both hands. Briar doesn’t kiss me back. She’s frozen, her body impossibly still, caught between shock and disbelief, but years of regret and restraint crash together in a single moment, and I can’t stop myself. Everything I can’t say, conveyed in a single, devastating crash of my mouth on hers, the last remnants of my control shattering against her silence.
I kissed her before,reallykissed her, that night at The Sovereign, but she was drugged. I doubt she remembers it, butI do.I do, and I haven’t thought of anything else since. And after I did it, I spiraled straight into relapse, all those years of convincing myself I’d romanticized what had been between us, how I imagined the dangerous, euphoric high that came with the taste of her. I realizedI hadn’t. But it’s darker now; she’s a sweet poison that has only grown more addictive with time, and I’m going through withdrawals.
Briar still hasn’t moved, and reluctantly, I lift my lips from hers, hovering just over them before I pull back entirely, regret washing through me at what I’ve done—a slight tremble ripping through my hands before I let her go.
Briar’s staring at me like she’s seen a ghost, wide-eyed, her lips swollen and bruised from my momentary lapse in control. She closes her eyes, shutting them tight, hoping—or fearing—I’ll still be here when she opens them again. Slowly, hesitantly, she reopens them. She doesn’t say a word, and neither do I, but the second her eyes meet mine again, there’s no hesitation—it’s Briar who closes the gap between us this time, her hand finding my face and tugging it back down, her lips finding mine again.
Fuck. My self-control splinters further, my hands grasping hold of her hips. I yank her body closer as I take back control of the kiss, backing her up until she’s pressed against the mirror.
“What are we doing?” she asks in-between kisses. My hands roam her body, while my mouth explores her neck.
“You kissed me back,” I tell her.
“But you kissed me first…”
“And you liked it.”
Her hands fall to my chest, pushing me back just enough so she can see my face. Her walls are down, and I can see everything she’s feeling written all over her face. There’s hope… a tiny, fragile flame of it flickering in her eyes, but it’s caged by something darker: uncertainty, doubt, fear.
“But I hate you?” Her words sound more like a question than a statement, and I stare down at her.
“Do you?” I arch a brow questioningly, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.
“And you hate me?” She looks up at me, her eyes searching mine as if she’s desperate to find the answer in them. The usually bright blue is cloudy with all the thoughts running through her mind—confusion, apprehension, andneed.
She’s right. I hate her, but not for the reasons she might think.
“I do,” I breathe, leaning back in to trail light kisses and small nips of my teeth up her neck until I reach her ear. The shiver that rips through her when my breath hits the sensitive skin there has my cock straining in my pants. “But I don’t have to like you to fuck you, and you can still hate me after I make you come.”
I take her mouth again, staking my brutal claim. I can’t stop touching her; I can’t stop kissing her. The taste of her is not enough; I need to be inside her. She told me she didn’t have a boyfriend, and my control didn’t just break… it shattered. And even with my mouth on hers, inhaling the scent of her into mysoul, it’s not enough. There’s nothing stopping me now. I’m out of reasons why I should hold myself back.
Except for one.
“Tell me to stop.” I release her mouth again, moving lower, my mouth and tongue trailing down the tender flesh of her throat, my teeth grazing the surface, testing, feeling her body respond and arch against me. “Tell me to stop, little Rose, or I swear to god I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll still feel me days from now.”
I drag my lips from her skin to gauge her reaction. She’s breathing hard, and while I’ve got her pinned, she’s not trying to get away. There’s conflict in her eyes, but there’s something else there too—an emotion I can’t put a name to.
She’s silent, and we stare at each other for a moment. I’m waiting for her to open her mouth, waiting for her to push me away, but when she doesn’t, I close my eyes, cupping her face in my hands while I press my forehead to hers.
