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She shrugs, dropping her head. Terrible liar—she is an open book, wearing her scars so openly, horrible at hiding it. “You know what I mean.”
Leaning back, I cross my arms, and she rolls her eyes again—a staple of hers, I’m coming to learn.
“Why do you always do that?” she asks and mimics my pose, pushing her luscious breasts up in the process. I could suffocate in those gorgeous tits. I plan to be. My face and my cock.
Focus, Theo, I scold myself.
“Do what?” I match her energy, almost mocking her.
“That. You sit there like you’re interrogating me. You come off as cool and malicious.”
“So?” I sit forward this time, interlocking my fingers and cocking my head to the side.
“It’s… intimidating.”
“Good. I like that I have that affect.”
Clicking her tongue, she leans in, the student becoming the teacher. This time she matches my pose, but with gusto. “I meant to say it’s creeper energy.”
This makes me laugh. I know what I need to do. Clearly, my approach won’t get me the answers and responses I want, so I flip the script. “Did someone hurt you, greens? You can tell me.” I soften my expression, reaching over and touching her hand. The move would seem intimate, but there is nothing behind it except for her to find comfort. For me, it’s a formality.
“Please. I don’t want to do this. I don’t know you,” she whispers, turning her head to hide the sudden well of tears.
“Shit,” I breathe out, feeling like a complete dick.
Why? Why is she so good at making me feel some type of compassion? I’m not one to be swayed or easily turned into a man with feelings and empathy.
“It was nothing. Okay? Just a group of mean boys in high school who saw a chance to hurt the fat loner in the corner. That was a long time ago.” Squaring her shoulders, she pushes her long hair over one to fall down her back and tilts up her chin.
That’s a good girl. Confident, strong, unbothered. I plan to watch her learn how to do this more often.
“Give me names. Give me that at least,” I order, a slight burn that I’m very familiar with rolling up my spine and settling heavily on my shoulders.
“What?”
“Names, Hanna.” The anger simmers, but it will rage much harder if she doesn’t tell me. I want whoever made a woman like Hanna drop her head and speak about her body in such a foul manner to pay. Simple as that.
“Why? You going to show up and scare them with your throat grabbing and crass words?”
This makes me bark out a laugh once more, lightening the mood just a bit. Which is good. Anger fuels a lot, gives me many things—courage, strength, control—but it also brings me lust and desire. It can be both a pro and a con with me. Depends on which side I choose and who is on the receiving end. And Hanna is walking the tightrope toward my “pin you down and make you scream my fucking name” side.
“No. Maybe. How about you be a good girl for once and tell me what I ask you?”
“A good girl? You really think that works?” I watch her chest turn a light shade of pink, her breathing uneven.
“Given the way your breaths just changed and the flush spreading from your chest to your face, I would say you think that works perfectly. Don’t be ashamed of desires, greens; they are what makes life worth living.”
She gulps. “You don’t know me. Why would you think this is something I would want?”
“And what is it you think I’m assuming?” I question again.
“I’m assuming you want to make love.”
I all but topple out my chair with laughter. “Oh, sweet puppet. Making love is for fools and those without a pulse. Fucking is for the living. For the feral. For people like us. I don’t want to make love to you, Hanna. I want to make sin with you. Make fire. Fire so hot you burn, and as you almost finish healing from that burn, I want to douse you again in my gasoline and burn us both to the ground.”
“Jesus,” she moans, not even trying to hide it. “You’re so intense. It’s—”
“Arousing? You like it? You crave it?”
Her eyes search mine, and she nods slowly. “Yes, but I shouldn’t. I can’t.” She shakes her head, trying to recenter her focus. “I won’t. Find someone else. You don’t know me, and this could never be a thing.”
“Casual fucking—mind-blowing fucking—is normal, Hanna.”
“No, it isn’t. You need to know the person you’re sleeping with. Don’t you think that? Even a little?”
“No. I don’t. Besides, if I did, what better way to get to know someone than getting to know them that personally?” I wink, taking one of the cashews from the center bowl and popping it in my mouth, smiling around it as I chew.
