Page 90 of Breathe Like Hell

“I don’t want to look at you.”

I stiffened.

“What the fuck?”

“Is it so hard to believe I might not want to see your face while I fuck you?”

Shame and embarrassment turned in my stomach, heat pulsing in my cheeks. I didn’t know what to do, how I was supposed to react to that. Making a big deal and leaving felt more vulnerable and exposed than just taking it.

“It’s not hard to believe. And it works for me. I don’t want to see you, either.”

“Great. You want to stop?”

“No.”

He already knew he’d hurt me.

Whatever.

The sex still felt good. I just wished I’d fucked more men so I could have the ability to pretend he was someone else now.

Because for whatever reason, I thought he’d wanted to fuck me.

Apparently, that was not the case. He wanted to fuck someone, and I just happened to be here. It was a very stupid, very unfortunate mistake for me to have made. I should’ve known better, but I didn’t.

Somehow, I never knew better when it came to Micah.

He was my Achilles’ heel, my greatest weakness, the thing with the most power to hurt me.

And I was only learning more and more that he still affected me in that way. Every interaction with him where I went in silently wondering if there was something still there proved there was. It just wasn’t between both of us. It was only me. I was the only one still stuck in the past.

It didn’t matter how many times I reminded myself over and over how much I hated him, because the hate wasn’t enough. It should’ve been enough. Should’ve burned away the chance for any other emotion to form.

But it hadn’t.

In the absence of him, the empty space I’d had to build my life around, something stupid and pathetic remained. Something that never stayed dead after I killed it.

Need.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

DAKOTA

Mason was visibly unhappy when he picked me up after my shift at the gas station, and I was instantly uneasy getting into his car. It reminded me so sharply of the time when he’d pinned my hand to the door that I almost wanted to get right back out of the car.

Not only was he upset, he was distracted. That was the bad part of the combination.

When he was upset and fighting with me, at least I felt like there were things I could do to calm him down, or turn the conversation. There was the assurance that everything would be okay at the end. It was us.

But when he was upset because of something other than me…I couldn’t change anything. I couldn’t fix anything.

All I could do was endure the nightmare.

I’d learned that.

“Mason?” I questioned, looking over at him while he drove. He twisted his grip on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”