Page 135 of Cold Mercy

I walk toward the cabin, not waiting for him, knowing he’ll follow. I storm up the stairs like I want to break the house in half, heading straight for our room. I know both of our tempers too well to think this conversation, or whatever Thomas wants to call it, is going to end quietly. I reach the room, push the door open, then twist back to him with a sharp, taunting smile.

“Ladies first,” I say sweetly, which is my favorite way of telling him to go fuck himself.

He doesn’t roll his eyes, just steps past me, pulse hammering, jealousy still crawling hot under his skin.

I close the door and lean back against it, my palms pressing flat against the wood as if bracing for impact.

Thomas stands in the middle of the room, facing me. One hand is jammed deep in his pocket, the other covers his mouth, his thumb pressing against his lip like he’s trying to hold back words he’ll regret. He’s staring at the floor, breathing hard.

“Thomas,” I start, my voice tight. “We can’t keep doing this circle. We can’t just—”

He looks up with eyes that are dark, wrecked.

“Fuck it.”

He crosses the distance in two strides. He steps into my space and slams his body against mine, pinning me even harder to the door.

His hands fly up to cup my face, rough and desperate, and then his mouth crashes onto mine.

I gasp, opening for him instantly, and he takes it. He kisses me with a hunger that steals the air from my lungs, devouring me.

One of his hands leaves my face. It slides down my throat, over my chest, tracing the line of my body until it grips my thigh. He lifts my leg, hooking it around his hip, pressing me into the wood until I can feel every hard line of him against me.

God, he is such a good kisser. It’s unfair. It’s maddening. He kisses like he wants to own the breath in my body.

Then, abruptly, he stops.

He drops my leg. He pulls back, bracing both hands on the door on either side of my head, trapping me but not touching me. He’s panting, his lips swollen, eyes wild.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, dragging a hand down his face. “Sophia, I… shit. I’m sorry. I just can’t help it, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

He turns away, and just like that, he's pulling back again. It's the same thing he always does: leaving everything unfinished, leaving me hanging on the edge. In that moment, something inside me snaps. I am so fucking done with this back and forth, and I am done with his noble act.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I say to his back.

He freezes, turning his head just enough that I can see his profile.

He opens his mouth, ready to give me another excuse, but I don't let him. I grab his shirt collar, yank him back toward me, and crash my mouth onto his before he can utter a single word.

I kiss him with months of bottled fury and want, and a low, defeated sound groans from his throat, vibrating against my lips.

His arms snap around my waist, his hands digging into my skin. He lifts me effortlessly, my feet leaving the floor as I wrap my legs around him.

I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him breathe unless it’s my breath he inhales.

He carries me across the room without breaking the kiss, I pull back for half a second, panting against his lips.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper, a command and a plea. “Do you understand me?”

“Oh, I won’t,” he growls, throwing me onto the bed and caging me in. “But you’re going to beg me to. You will beg for mercy, Sophia, and I won't give it to you.”

CHAPTER 34

THOMAS

Her back hits the mattress, and I follow her down instantly, caging her in with my body, the heat rolling off us enough to burn the whole damn house down. I go still for a single breath, my eyes dragging slowly down her body, memorizing every inch I’ve spent months imagining.

“Too rough?” I murmur, my voice gravelly, giving her a sliver of control I don't want to yield.