But before I can come closer, his hand darts out to my throat, leather against my skin.
He doesn’t choke me. He barely curls his fingers around my neck, but hestopsme, and for some reason, it feels as if my heart might break because of it. I know love and sex and attention are all tangled strangely inside my head. He was right about that, some of the things he said. But the irrationality of it doesn’t stop what I’m feeling, the ache in my chest as his thumb comes to my windpipe, pressed vertically against it, bordering the edge of pain.
I don’t drop my hand, though. I don’t let go of that connection, however fleeting it may be.
The moonlight grazes one of his eyes, illuminating a shard of amber in the deep brown.
My breath catches, and I want to kiss his eyelid.
I want to smother him with my want.
“Sullen.” His name is desperate on my lips, trembling the way I am with need.
He stares at me blankly, and I’m not even sure he’s seeing me. I wonder what horrors play inside his head. The ways he needs pain to get close. Control to give in.
I think I will have to throw myself at him to get anywhere.
I think I don’t care if I do.
Slowly, I brush my thumb over the hollow above his top lip. I feel his warm breath on my skin. The way his fingers tighten marginally around my neck.
I don’t care.
I don’t fucking care.
I step closer, into his hold, choking myself, and it doesn’t matter at all to me. In fact, it only heightens my lust.
Hurt me. Strangle me. Bite me. Touch me.
Just give in to me, Sullen Rule. You could take all of my blood so long as it dripped down your throat.
With my other hand, I press my palm near his heart, over his hoodie. I feel his pulse thundering against his ribcage and I want to snap the bones open, if only to reach him the way he’s infected me.
“Sullen,” I say again,begging.“Kiss me.”
He takes a shuddering breath. I hear it, see it,feelit with my thumb over his lip and my hand on his chest.
Then he says, “I’m so sorry, Little Sun,” the moment before he grabs me by the neck, forcing me closer at the same time he bands an arm around my hips and lifts me up. He turns, setting me on the windowsill, his body between my thighs, his fingers splayed over my jawbone, forcing my chin up as he dives his head down, teeth pressed to my skin.
My eyes nearly roll back as I cling onto him, my fingers curled into the material of his hoodie hugging his biceps, my legs spread for him, the back of my skull against the cold window behind me.
He sucks on my neck, his teeth scraping and puncturing and I don’t care at all. His tongue laps at my skin, then he’s biting me again, one arm still around my waist, forcing me close to him.
I cross my legs behind his back, dragging him closer, desperately wanting him to fuck me right here, just like this.
But part of me knows he’s deflecting.
He didn’t kiss my mouth.
He’s biting my throat.
He didn’t strip me down or take me to the bed.
He’s got such a firm hold on my face I can’t look down.
He’s hiding while he hurts me.
He’s giving me only half of what it is I want.
