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We’ve only taken the edge off our tension, not banished it completely.
He shifts slightly, adjusting his weight on top of me, and I wrap my legs tighter around his waist.
In a second, I’ll think. In a second, I’ll let guilt invade my body. But for just one more second, I want to stay in this place where I feel… good.
I’m aware of every part of Hale that touches me, my sensitive body burning against his skin. The rage from earlier has worn off, leaving nothing but the rawness of his ache, the vulnerability of his desire, and my body wants to explore and push the limits of him, wondering how far we could take it.
He finally lifts his head with a quiet groan. His mouth searches for mine, capturing it in a soft kiss that lingers, too tender and sweet for my confused heart. He steadies himself with his hands on my waist, pulling me closer like he’s searching for some way to fuse our bodies together, and I find the bare skin of his back, dragging my fingernails over it until he groans again.
When he kisses me like this, I can almost imagine there’s true feeling beneath his cold exterior, and a small part of me wants more of it—more of this—even though I know this is as much of Hale as I’ll ever get.
He’s your enemy.
Your captor.
And you’re a fucking cheater and a liar.
My hands freeze on his warm body, my heart jerking in my chest as guilt finally floods in like a tidal wave. I had a chance tonight to call Brian. To let him know I’m still alive, to try to give him some information that could help him find me.
And what did I do instead?
I fucked one of my captors on a desk.
And I enjoyed it.
“Let me go.” My fingernails dig into his back with more force as my body goes stiff. “Let me up. I can’t—”
I feel the exact moment tension floods his body too, and I fucking hate it. I hate that I miss the softness I just saw and felt in him. I hate that I can even tell the difference.
How the fuck did we get here?
How did this happen?
We hate each other. I hate him for stealing me away from my life, for destroying my perfect future, and he hates me for what my father did. Since the man himself is no longer here to bear the brunt of Hale’s fury, I’ve become the stand-in, the proxy.
And no matter what just happened between us, that hasn’t changed.
Hale pulls out of me and steps back, his dick still wet with our combined arousal. I feel the absence of him instantly, my body going cold without the warmth of his skin.
I turn my head away as he tucks himself back into his pants and straightens out his clothes, tugging his shirt back on. I focus on the long rows of heavy bookshelves that line the walls instead of him—instead of my body.
When he’s done, I slide off the desk and crouch down quickly to gather my clothes, pulling them on so fast I almost rip the shirt.
“Let’s go.” Hale’s voice is blunt. Emotionless.
The second I’m dressed, he grabs my elbow in his large hand, leading me out of the office and down the hall toward my room. I tug out of his grasp, not wanting to be led anywhere by him. Not wanting to be escorted like a fucking prisoner. Bitterness is already overtaking me; any warmth or passion from moments ago is gone.
He doesn’t grab my elbow again. He turns around only for a second to make sure I’m following and not trying to flee, then resumes walking toward my room.
I watch the muscles of his back shift as we make our way down the hall, and I’m surprised when one of his steps wobbles. He grumbles a curse under his breath.
“Are you all right?” I ask. He’s still drunk, but I don’t think that catch in his gait was from the whiskey.
“Why wouldn’t I be all right?” He doesn’t look at me, but his voice still has the same hard edge as before.
I should be glad he’s shutting down, that he’s back to the cold, bitter Hale it’s so easy to hate. But for some reason, the dead tone in his voice hurts.
“Your leg,” I clarify. “Is it okay?”
