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“If you don’t stop cursing, I’m going to wash your mouth out. And not with soap.”
As soon as I say it, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Fucking hell.
I did not mean to say that. Now visions of things I could do to her pretty pink mouth won’t stop bombarding me.
Fallon looks dumbstruck, as she should. I’ve never talked to her this way. I’ve always—even when it bordered on pain—tried to remember she’s young. Far younger than me.
Not to mention, she’s the daughter of the man who saved me when I needed it the most. I probably owe Fallon’s father my entire life, my entire career. He took me in when my own dad didn’t care about me and Mia.
“God, I never knew you were such an asshole, Dean,” Fallon says.
Her face reflects heartbreak and despite all the promises I’ve made—I keep on making—I approach her. I try to find words to comfort her, to apologize for being such a jerk. I go so far as to circle her delicate wrist even though she protests.
But as soon as I touch her, all I can think about is touching her even more. Touching her in places where I’m not allowed to, and that only fans my aggression.
“Well, now you do,” I growl, smelling her sweet strawberry smell.
Fallon loves strawberries. When she was little, she’d steal all my strawberries and give me oranges in return. I didn’t mind her stealing, but she’d say, My mommy says if I steal something from someone, I need to give them back something, too. It’s only fair.
Your mom teaches you about stealing, Tiny?
She’d grin, shaking her head and popping strawberries in her mouth. Nah, I made that up. I just don’t like oranges. You need to make them your favorite, okay? So I can steal from you.
“Let go of me.”
“No.”
I tighten my grip and her fist connects with my chest, probably trying to push me away once again. But her effort is half-hearted.
When she glares at me for not budging, I wind my other arm around her waist, uncaring of the consequences. Uncaring of the fact that somehow I’m betraying Simon, Fallon’s dad. Uncaring that maybe I’m similar to those men whom I put away for preying on the innocent. Uncaring that if a man like me, much older, jaded and more cynical, tried something like this with my sister, I’d kill him with my bare hands.
Uncaring of everything but her.
We’ve ended up in an embrace somehow, when that wasn’t my intention at all. Fallon’s glare has turned into a wide-eyed look and I know I won’t be able to let her go.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I rumble.
“Like what?” she whispers, panting, her chest almost touching mine; her eyes darken, clouded with desire.
Despite myself, I close that slice of a distance between us, until her soft body is touching mine. “I’m not going to kiss you, Fallon.”
Her breaths escalate, and her eyes drop down to my mouth. “Good. Because I don’t want you to.”
I study the curve of her parted lips. “Liar.”
She pushes against me, but again, it’s half-hearted. “I don’t want you or your mouth anywhere near me. Okay?”
My arm around her waist flexes. “I don’t think you mean that.”
“I can’t stand you right now.”
“I don’t think you mean that either.”
She growls, fisting my shirt, shaking me. “I hate you, Dean.”
“Good,” I grit out, still studying her lips before looking into her eyes. “Because you don’t fucking know what love is.”
“You’re such an asshole. Just go away and leave me alone.”
“I did.”
“What?”
“You want to know what love is, Fallon?” I growl. “Let me tell you what love is. It’s a burn. An explosion. It’s like I’m exploding every second of every day. With the need, this fucking urge to see you. To touch you. To kiss you. Even though I know I can’t. I can’t do it because it’s wrong. But it doesn’t matter because that burn, that ache? It never goes away. In fact, instead of going away, it only grows bigger and bigger. And fucking bigger. To the point where all I can think about is you. All I can think about is destroying every single thing, every single reason, every single person who’s trying to keep me apart from you. Love is watching you go to prom with your douchebag of a boyfriend and going so crazy, so fucking insane with jealousy, I cornered that sixteen-year-old boy and threatened him to stay away from you. That’s what love is, Fallon.”
I want to keep going but I don’t think I can. I don’t think I should even be touching her after confessing how petty, how small I’ve become in her love. But I can’t seem to let her go, either.
Seconds pass as she studies me and then in a soft voice, she asks, “Y—you told Brad to stay away from me?”
