I let her go.Fingers still twitching with the ghost of her.Then I turn, force my feet to move toward the kitchen, jaw clenched, cock hard enough to ache.
Every fucking inch of me is screaming to turn around.Grab her.Haul her upstairs and rip every stitch of clothing off her like it’s a fucking offense to my hunger.I want to fuck the ache out of me.
Instead, I plant my hands on the kitchen counter, muscles coiled so tight I’m shaking with it.My whole body’s humming, aching like it’s been denied oxygen.
I shift, trying to breathe through the tension, but the pressure’s fucking savage.
The only goddamn relief I’m getting tonight is with my own hand wrapped around my cock.And fuck… even that won’t touch what I really want.
Her.Bent.Begging and ruined.
Chapter Ten
Emery
Fuckhim.
Seriously, F.U.C.K Matteofor that smug, manipulative shit he pulled last night.
He made me beg.Beg for his touch, his cock, like I’m some desperate little thing starving for it.And then he just walked the fuck away, left me aching, wet, wrecked.
No more of that shit.If this asshole wants to play…Then I’ll fucking play.
I stand in front of the mirror and rip off the oversized shirt I slept in, let it drop to the floor.My nipples are already tight from the chill, from remembering how he made me feel last night.
Yep, this will fucking do.
I run my eyes over my body, my tits on full display, the black lace panties that barely cover anything.He wants to be in control than he has to remember who the hell he’s dealing with.
I walk out of the spare room.Tits bare, chin lifted, every inch of me daring him to look.Daring him to crave me the same way I wanted him last night.
The hardwood bites at my soles, but I don’t stop.Don’t flinch.Not when the fire in my chest is hotter than anything underfoot.
I move through the house like smoke, slow, sinuous, sexy, untouchable.
The moment I step into the main area, I see him.Back to me, body wound tight, eyes fixed on the floor-to-ceiling windows.Waiting for something to break, for the outside world to cave in.Ghosts.His father.Or worse… his father’s men.The kind who don’t knock.Just kick the door in, dragging bullets and blood behind them.
I watch him closely, silent.His jaw’s locked, every line in his face pulled tight, a storm just under the surface.
This isn’t distraction.It’s preparation.He’s bracing for the hit—for the door to blow open, for that unseen danger to finally show up and put a bullet between our eyes.
And now I feel stupid, like he bruised more than just my ego last night, and I’m the idiot still aching from it, already plotting how to make him feel it too.I came out here with a plan.To rattle him.To steal back the power he yanked from me last night.
But now, looking at his back, I see it, the weight he wears, fused to him, impossible to shake.This isn’t loud fear.It’s the kind that sinks in deep.Quiet.Heavy.Coiled tight, a fuse just waiting for the right spark to rip everything apart.
He’s not just tense.He’s scared.Of what’s out there and how close it’s getting.
Maybe he pushed me away last night because that’s the only way he knows how to protect me, by pretending he doesn’t care before it all goes to shit.Or maybe he just didn’t want me.Not like the way I wanted him.
What the fuck am I doing?
This isn’t me.
I’m not the girl who plays power games with her tits out, flashing skin like a lure and hoping he’ll bite.
No.When I fight, I use what counts.
My wit, my strength, the fire I had to build bone-deep just to survive men like him.I don’t beg easy.And I sure as hell don’t break.
