“You thought about letting him tear through that little piece of flesh between your legs.” His hand moves down from my lips and he wraps his fingers around my throat. “You thought about bleeding on his cock. Is that what you’re telling me?”
An intense spasm rolls through my channel at the graphic image he paints – my blood on his cock – and his possessive hold on me. “Arrow, please.”
“Please what?” he whispers, his hand a hot brand on my throat. “Please don’t say things like that, Arrow? Or please don’t lose yourshitthinking about that virgin pussy being violated by that drunk motherfucker? Or maybe…” He squeezes my throat and I’m almost off the ground, teetering on my tiptoes. “Or maybe don’t lock me up in this motel room, Arrow, and go hunting for him. Don’t think about beating the living shit out of that dumb fuck. Is that what you’re pleading for, Salem? Don’t kill him. The cherry picker you chose for yourself.”
He can’t beat him up, can he?
I mean, that’s what he got suspended for, beating someone up.
Oh God, he can’t do that and I can’t let him.
But still, my whole body is buzzing with his violent reaction. My whole body is ablaze with his possessiveness, his raw domination over me.
This is bad, Salem. You can’t revel in these things.
“You can’t do that. You can’t beat him up, Arrow,” I blurt out, my heart jumping up to my throat and pounding against his palm. “Your team won’t like that, you beating someone else up in a bar, in front of everyone.”
It’s like he doesn’t even hear me as he whispers, “And this time, they won’t be able to pull me off him until I finish the job.”
I have to clench my teeth in order to tamp down the electric thrill his words fill my belly with and something really stupid and dangerous slips out of my mouth, but I stop myself at the last second. “Have you…”
“Have I what?”
I don’t know what I hope to accomplish by asking this question but I can’t help it. I have to know. Because God, he looks so angry and wild and so crazy possessive.
“Have you always been like this? B-before.”
Stupid, stupid question.
Stupid,stupidSalem.
What would this accomplish anyway? Why do I care how he was before, when he was with my sister?
But the thing is, I don’t think he was like this. I don’t think he was this crazy dominating and crazy possessive. Sarah would have hated that.
Because Jesus Christ, I love every inch of this.
I love every fucking inch of his deep-seated need to control me.
When understanding breaks over his face like dawn, I fall in love with him even more. Because it only manages to darken hisfeatures. It only manages to make him wilder, more possessive, more… mine.
He leans forward, his grip on me still absolute. “No, I wasn’t.” His thumb digs into my fluttering pulse. “Maybe it’s you. Maybe you bring out the worst in me. And you wanted me, didn’t you? You wanted my fire. My heat. My fury.”
I jerk out a nod.
He throws out a mean, tight smile. “Well, you got me. Every broken, cut-open piece of me.”
Good.
I want him, however he comes. I want him to burn me, cut me, slice me open.
I don’t care.
I’ll still smile at him. I’ll still love him. I’ll still dive into the ocean and jump off an airplane for him.
He’s my Arrow.
My darling Arrow.
