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“Stop.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“No.”
“Mia, you ran off like the devil was nipping. You really think you’re not good enough?”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I move my hand against the heat there, and there’s too much denim, too many clothes. Way too many defenses in place.
She brings her face close. “Stop that.”
“Make me.”
She puts her hand on my chest like she wants to push me away. But her hand curls there, not pushing, like she’s waiting and in her eyes there’s a struggle. Silent, real.
I’m probably a sick fuck, because it turns me on. Not the why, but the fact there’s a struggle. The fact she wants me. I’m probably a real sick fuck because I want to break her down and rebuild. I want to take what’s mine and damn everything else, even though I’m trying to make her see exactly what and who she is.
A woman any man would want.
But I push my mind back to the issue at hand.
“Mia, your father is old-fashioned, like your brother. Me? I don’t give a fuck about a ring.” But I’m starting to wonder if that’s true. Because Mia would look sensational in nothing but a diamond ring. “I give a fuck about you.”
Her fingers bite into me. “You just want to fuck me.”
“Been there, done that.”
“But you don’t want me.”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
She tilts her head to one side, eyebrow rising in a dare. “You don’t want to fuck me?”
I skim my lips close to her ear. “I’ve fucked you hard, Mia, and I want to do it again and again and again. So, do I want to fuck you? Yeah, I do, we both know it. But we’re not talking about sex. We’re talking about you and what happened out there.”
Her breath is uneven. “I put a stop to you all talking like I was brainless chattel.”
I trace the curve of her ear with my tongue. “You ran.” I pause. “From me.”
“I’m not here for you to pity fuck or to be a notch on your bedpost.”
I could break her pretty neck for that.
She said as much back there, in the library. But I need her to fucking stop. I need her to see.
“You test my last nerve. You’re none of those things and you have to stop with that bullshit. I told you the only reason I give a fuck about anything that happened to you, or anything done to you, or you did to stay alive is you never wanted it. You were forced against your will and desires and wants. You were hurt. That’s what I care about. Not a scar, not any of that.”
Her eyes glitter. “Not that I was raped?”
I close my eyes and lean my forehead against hers. “I would bring them back and kill them over and over for you and you know it.”
Raising my head, I look at her again.
My words don’t seem to have penetrated because that glitter has turned to desperate flame.
“I’m a notch. You’ll get sick of me.”
