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“You know that’s someone’s carpet?”
“So? They’re dead. This is their bed too, which has been fucked in a dozen times.”
I wrinkled my nose and glanced down at the neatly made comforter. “That’s gross. Why do you always have to go there?”
“That’s all our world is, princess. Sex, power,
pain, and us—the degenerate fucking youth.”
He reached for the bottle of goose and unscrewed the lid, passing it right to me without drinking any.
I shrugged and brought it to my mouth, taking a healthy swig. The burn was everything, settling deep in my gut. I took another and he laughed before finally answering my earlier question.
“Plus, I think I should get to know the gorgeous woman I’m going to be spending the rest of my days with.”
I nearly choked.
“Shut up.” I wiped my mouth with my wrist and handed the bottle back to him, diverting my gaze to a blank space on the comforter, feeling my cheeks warm. He’d sounded sincere.
Asshole Zane, I could barely deal with, sweetheart Zane would annihilate me.
“Are you fucking blushing?”
“No?” I mean, “No. Stop screwing with me. You know you and I—.”
“We’re do or die,” he interjected.
I shifted and looked over at him, seeing he was serious.
“I…don’t you know I’m no good for you? You hate me, Zane. I can see it every time you look at me.”
“Every time?” he cocked his head to the side, stare boring into mine.
I rolled my lips, looked up at the ceiling, and counted to three. Zane was a mystery I was trying to solve in spite of all my protest not to.
He was danger. He was carnal sin. His soul was black, and his hands stained red. He was everything I lived and breathed in the flesh.
He was tempting, so tempting.
I exhaled a deep breath and sat up on my knees, successfully dislodging the palm imprinting on my skin.
“Zane, we aren’t friends. We aren’t lovers. Hating me even a little is enough for me to say—.”
“Fuck this.” He slammed the bottle down keeping his eyes locked with mine.
There was a momentary lapse of four seconds, and then he pounced. A small squeak flew from my mouth as I went from being on my knees to flat on my back staring up at him.
“Friends…lovers…mine. I’d say that trumped both the other titles.”
“You hate me!” I reiterated, pushing on his solid chest.
“You keep saying that.” He dropped his hands to my thighs and spread them apart, fitting himself between them.
“I hate you. I’m obsessed with you. You’re everything I want. I’m everything you need.”
His touch made it hard to breathe.
I tried not to get lost in the sensation, but it was a welcome distraction from the ache in my chest.
