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Just as quickly as I’d struck, he struck back. And so it was, we would fucking die together. For just an instant, I saw in his eyes that, like me, he meant it. Behind his back, I heard the lock turn. He kept his eyes on me and I saw: he wanted to say it again, too.
I whipped around to face him. He advanced.
Back, back, back I stepped. Forward, forward, forward he came. The room was only so big.
My shoulders collided with the wall. The bricks snagged the fabric of my costume. Mason’s hips pressed me tighter.
He loomed over me. Tall. Imposing. Dangerous.
“I fucking hate you.” My chin jutted up at him, defiant.
His chest crushed my lungs. My hard nipples wanted me to move, wanted friction. I stayed perfectly still, crushed beneath him.
“I hate fucking you, too,” he whispered.
His hands came to either side of me head, boxing me in. I pressed mine flat against the brick. Told myself I could still escape.
“I hate you,” I said through gritted teeth. “I hate you, I hate you, I—”
He kissed me. Hard and furious, his tongue demanding entrance at my lips.
Crack!
His face turned to the side at the force of my slap on his cheek. I sucked in a breath. I barely realised what I was doing before I did it. "Don’t kiss me."
I expected him to be angry as he turned back. But he flashed me a wicked grin. “You fucking want me as much as I want you.”
“I don’t.”
“Then what was that back there—?”
“A game. A fucking game.”
He pressed me into the wall even further. My hips tilted to meet his barely restrained cock.
“Liar,” he growled.
“I’m not—”
He shut me up with a hand up my skirt. A mutinous moan escaped my lips as his fingers edged my panties. Slipped underneath.
He let out a low chuckle when he found me wet. “You’re already soaked for me, dirty girl. Tell me again you don’t want me.”
Stretched up onto my toes and smashed my lips desperately against his. Inhaled breath from his lungs. Whispered against his teeth, “I hate you.”
But it was me I meant.
I hated myself.
Hated that I didn’t hate him at all.
