Page 78 of Broken Pact

She backs her ass into me, her head turning toward me. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. If I want to call you Jagger, then I will.”

Goddamn, she flipped from flirty to fiery in two fucking seconds.

My hands wrap around her ribs, and I pull her flush to me. I drop my face into the crook of her neck, dragging my lips along the elegant slope. “Tell me what happened last night, baby.” It’s a fucking plea at this point. I need to know what happened exactly, what those guys said to her. What kind of shit she’s tangled up in.

How can I fix it if I don’t know the full details?

Her breath hitches, her legs moving to tread water. But I’m standing on a little sandbar, so I’ve got her.

“I already told you what happened,” she says, her shoulders tensing.

I place a line of chaste kisses along her shoulder. “Tell me who it was.”

Her breath hitches, either from my touch or the question. “I, uh, I don’t know.”

I tsk, trailing the disapproving sound along her skin. “Try again.”

“I’m telling you the truth,” she insists, her legs moving a little harder in the water.

Using the back of my index finger, I drag her hair off her back to hang over her other shoulder. I drop my mouth to the top of her spine and murmur, “You talked for four minutes and thirty-seven seconds to those motherfuckers, Coraline. Over four minutes. Tell me what he said before he hit you.”

She whirls around in an explosive move, the water churning beneath us. Lips pressed firmly together and eyes narrowed with righteous anger.

I nod, pleased we’re on the same page again. “Good, you’re angry. Me too.”

She leans into me. “You don’t get to be angry.”

“The fuck I don’t,” I counter, feeling the hot pricks of indignation along my spine.

“No, you don’t, Jagger.”

“Don’t,” I murmur, surging forward until my lips hover over hers. “Don’t push me, Coraline.”

But my beautiful stubborn woman doesn’t head the warning, because why the fuck would she? She’d burn the world to the ground if I told her not to. Just out of fucking spite.

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her barely-covered nipples brushing against my bare chest with every inhale. She leans in and drags her nose along my jaw until her lips are right next to my ear. “You don’t get to be angry, because you’re not my goddamn boyfriend.” She punctuates the last word with her teeth sinking into my earlobe.

It’s the worst and best thing she could’ve done. She’s taunting me, luring out that prowling beast inside of me. This desperate sound growls from the back of my throat, my frustration given noise.

I sink my hand into the hair at the nape of her neck and pull her back so she can see me. I feel a little wild, like my skin is too tight and the sun is unbearably hot. “You’re right, baby. I’m your fucking man.” I emphasize the last word just like she did, dragging my teeth over the tendon in her neck.

She shakes her head, a feeble protest. “This isn’t real.”

“I’m getting tired of hearing you say that, baby.”

“Well, it’s true, so get used to it,” she bites out.

“Does this feel fucking fake to you?”

Her mouth parts, a snappy retort on the tip of her tongue, I’m sure. But I don’t give her a second to spit it out at me. I dive in and swallow every single word, sweeping my tongue around and proving to her that nothing about this—about us—is fake.

She tastes like melted chocolate over strawberries on a fucking summer’s afternoon. Lush and sweet and so fucking addicting. Her tongue wages war, battling mine for dominance. She can’t give in that easily. Her pride won’t let her, and that’s fine. I’ll give her whatever she fucking needs.

I use my grip on her hair to angle her head back so I can see her eyes better. They’re filled with a mix of fear, desire, and defiance—a dangerous cocktail that sends a jolt of exhilaration through my veins. I move my lips closer to hers, the tension between us hanging in the air like a storm cloud waiting to burst.

“Tell me to stop.”

She lifts her chin. “No.”

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