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I flip it open and freeze, focused intensely on the drawing of a pair of eyes.Myeyes. Only, they’re not the way I’m accustomed to seeing them. They have the same shape, same dark spots on the irises. There’s a deep crease between them. But in the drawing, they’re slightly upturned and crinkled at the edges, and there’s a slight gleam to them, as if I’m smiling.
Because I was.
Several times, she called my name, grinning so widely when I looked at her that I couldn’t help but smile. She captured those moments.
Does light penetrate shadows, or do the shadows drown out the light?
I asked that question not long ago. The answer is both. She’s managed to light up my eyes while I’ve filled hers with darkness.
Blowing out a breath full of exhaustion, I set the sketch aside. Tired, I shut my lids and must drift off instantly, because a bolt of lightning that rumbles even through the sound barriers I’ve erected around the loft wakes me. Instantly, I glance at the door.
Though she has access to water, it’s been twenty-four hours since she’s eaten. Either she has a will made of iron or she’s passed out.
Going to the door, I pause momentarily to stare at the painting hanging beside it. The one she gifted me. Ignoring the tightness it creates in my chest, I enter the room without knocking. I search the darkened interior and find her silhouetted against the window as she peers out into the night.
She turns to me and I’m startled by her appearance. Haunted gray eyes, colorless, lifeless, stare at me as tears stream over her gaunt cheeks. Then I realize they aren’t tears, but shadows cast by the raindrops rolling down the window.
If she’s sorry for what she did, she doesn’t show it. In fact, there isn’t an ounce of emotion to be found in her gaze. She’s completely shuttered.
“Come to the kitchen. You need to eat something,” I say to her, extending my hand, expecting her to do as she’s told.
She glances at it, then back at my face. “I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask if you were.”
When I move to grab her arm, she tries to pull away, but I’m faster. I wrap my fingers around her wrist and haul her to my chest. Her scent invades my nostrils and I inhale deeply. My body reacts to her instantly, hardening and heating.
Fuck me, but I want her even now. Even knowing what she’s done, I fucking want her beneath me, writhing and moaning.
She smirks as her leg brushes against my hard cock and she lifts her gaze to mine. “Are you just trying to keep me alive so you can fuck me?”
I narrow my stare on her. “I can fuck you whether you eat or not.”
Trying once again to yank herself free, she growls, “Go find someone else to get off with.”
“Is that what you really want?” Fury grips me at the thought that she couldn’t care less if I fuck someone else. Not when she’s the only one who will satisfy this ever-present craving and raw need. Angrily, I grit through my teeth, “Say the word and I’ll find someone to fuck. Do you want me to fuck someone else?”
“No.”
“Good girl. Get on the bed, sweetness.” As she always wants, I give her a smile. “Naked.”
She glares at me before pulling her arm out of my grasp. Stripping out of her shirt and jeans, she lays on her back and spreads her legs. There’s hatred rippling from her, and it does something to me. It makes me burn hotter, my rage turned into desire. My need to brutally take out my frustration is still there, but instead of wrapping my hands around her throat, I want to pound into her. I want to leave us both bruised and battered so that there’s no doubt in my mind that all we could cause each other is pain.
I trail my gaze from her face, over her perky breasts and slim waist, to her sex. The light spilling in from the living room reflects off the wetness there and my smile broadens. Oh yes, she might hate me, might want to kill me too, but just as my hard-on gives away how badly I want her, her wet core gives away her desire.
She must notice the increase in heat radiating from me, because she attempts to slam her legs shut.
Before she can, I’m on her, pressing between her thighs. “I don’t think so, sweetness. This pussy”—I reach between us and cup her—“it’s mine, in love and in hate.”
“Something taken by force isn’t yours.”
I stiffen, despising what she’s implying. “I’m not taking anything by force. You’re giving it to me willingly. Always have. I’ll prove it to you. Tell me to stop, and I will.”
She moans, biting her lip and shutting her lids when I slide a finger between her folds and stroke her swelling clit. “Noah, please.”
“Please, what? Please stop? Please make you come? What are you asking me for?” I lick her throat and she whimpers. “Tell me.”
“You’ve damned me, Noah. How can I still want you knowing you’re going to kill me?” she cries.
