Page 11 of Dare To Take

“I don’t care about your fucking money!”

I know she doesn’t, but I’m too tired, too stressed, and too fucking angry to care about anything but making her bleed alongside me.

“If that’s the case, how did you pay for your flight to Nowhere, Hicksville?” I hike an eyebrow. “Or did you suck the pilot’s dick in exchange for a seat on the plane?”

She twists out of my grip. “You’re such a fucking asshole. It’s no wonder everyone hates you.”

“And yet you want to fuck me anyway.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you near me again.”

I smirk, my eyes dropping to her breasts. “You’re practically begging for it right now.” It’s a throwaway line. I can’t see a thing through the thick hoodie she’s wearing.

She folds her arms, covering her chest. “Stop looking at me.”

I take another step toward her. “Stop imagining my dick in your pussy.”

Her cheeks turn pink. “Don’t be disgusting.” She starts to walk past me. My hand flashes out to grab her arm, and I haul her around.

“What’s disgusting is that I could bend you over right now, pull down your panties and slide my dick right in. You’d be wet and ready for it.”

This time she does slap me. Pain radiates across my cheek, and something snaps inside me.

My fingers curl around her throat, my thumb pushing her chin up. There’s a flash of something—fear?—in her eyes and then I’m kissing her, my tongue forcing its way past her lips. There’s a risk of her biting it off, but I don’t fucking care. I need to feel something, anything. Something other than the guilt that’s been eating me alive for the past two days.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me away. Doesn’t kiss me back. At least, not until I raise my head. The second my lips leave hers, her arms lift, hook around my neck and pulls me back down.

And then the battle is on.

This isn’t a kiss. It’s a fucking war for dominance. I suck her lip into my mouth, she bites mine. Our tongues duel. Our teeth bite, clash, draw blood … and then she’s dragging my hoodie up. Our mouths part long enough for her to pull it over my head and then I go back for more, wrapping my arms around her waist and dragging her closer against me.

My fingers find the hem of her top and slide beneath it, up her spine to the hook on her bra. Her hands are everywhere. Roaming over my chest, down my arms, my hips and then she touches my spine.

I freeze for a second, and that moment is long enough for her palm to run over one of the scars littering my back. I’m too late when I reach back and pull her hand away so I can shove her away from me.

She blinks at me, eyes hazy with lust and confusion. “Eli?” My name on her lips is like a knife to the gut.

I reach deep inside and pull out a smile. My tone is rich with derision when I speak. “What was that about not wanting me, Princess?” I make a show of wiping the back of my hand across my mouth. “Seems like you’re just as hot for me sober as you were drunk.” I crouch for my hoodie and pull it on. “Get the fuck out of my room.”

Her bottom lip drops, her face turns red, and the desire in her eyes turns back to hate.

How pathetic is it that I’d rather she hate me than ask me about the scars?

“You make me sick, Eli Travers,” she spits at me, and runs from the room.

There’s a pain behind my eyes, a throbbing that pulses in time with the beat of my heart, and nausea threatens. With tired steps, I walk to the door and close it, then turn toward the bathroom.

A shower, sleep, then food, and maybe … maybe … I’ll feel human enough to deal with the rest of the fucking day.

Chapter 8

Arabella

I rush into my bedroom and slam the door shut behind me. Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, I try to get rid of the taste of Eli. A familiar throb pulses between my legs.

How can I still want him? After everything he’s done. All the hate between us.

My body doesn’t seem to understand. All it wants is to feel him up against me. To take the pleasure it can get from his touch. If he hadn’t stopped, I’d still be in there now, naked, and writhing beneath him.

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