Page 53 of Eden's Deliverance

It also helps that he keeps not-so-subtly nuzzling into my hair when he pulls away from his cigarette, almost like he’s smelling my shampoo. I would even say it was cute, if it wasn’t so frightfully out of character for him.

We should probably do the mature, adult thing that’s supposed to happen after intercourse—define the relationship, or whatever—but I have a feeling this was only meant to be a one-night stand. Really, I’m not sure it was meant to happen in the first place.

I walked away afterwards because I’m not daft enough to expect something more from him. We’re not dating, and we’re not even regularly fucking. It was nothing more than a hate-fuck.

I think.

I wonder, though, if he wanted to talk about it because he did sound sort of annoyed when I went to bed. He hasn’t mentioned it, but I could tell he was pissed about something.

Wejustfound something in common, and I don’t want that to get thrown out the window because I didn’t let him say his piece.

“Did you want to…” I stumble over my words, painstakingly rearranging the thoughts in my head to form a comprehensible sentence. “I just mean…are you okay with what happened? You haven’t said anything.” I try to peek at him over my shoulder, but his chin digs into the top of my head, demanding I stay put.

“Neither have you. In fact, I distinctly remember you dick ‘n dashing, but I wasn’t about to make you feel bad for it.” His sleepy tone is comforting, despite the criticism.

He’s not wrong, but the everlasting desire to push his buttons takes over. “Since when do younotwant to make me feel bad?”

Skylar chuckles like he’s genuinely amused, and the resulting burst of compressions against my back make me want to laugh in turn.

I settle for a secret smile as I tuck my chin into the heat of his forearm.

The hand on my shoulder pulls back, sliding across the width of my throat as his lips suddenly whisper into my ear, “Is that what I did in there, make you feel bad?” His fingers tighten when I swallow, threatening to follow through on the second round he mentioned.

Undecided on where I stand with that idea, I tease, “Are two orgasms supposed to make up for years of trashy behavior? One per year?” His mouth is so close to my ear, I can actually feel him smile when his lips stretch outward.

“One for every time you called me Satan, maybe,” he says, thumb rubbing gently along my pulse point while his other fingers dig in.

Seriously?That’s what got him in a huff?

My breath is unsteady from the pressure on my airway, but I try to hide it for the sake of this super-mature conversation. “Is that supposed to be a punishment? Wouldn’t you expect me to just say it more, then? To keep fighting?”

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to realize it doesn’t have to be that way. ThatIdon’t have to be that way.” I can tell the amusement is long gone, his voice deviating to the same nasty cadence I’m familiar with when he drops his arms to sever our physical contact.

I turn to face him, full of bewilderment, because he’s the one who said our fighting is what made us hot for each other. I tell him as much, adding, “I never did anything to make you act that way in the first place. You’ve done it all on your own. So yeah, I think you dohavetobe that way. It’s just who you are”—I jab my finger into the center of his chest—“Satan.”

In a flash, he grabs my wrist, pulling me closer while his other hand fists a chunk of my hair.

This is our game.

Fighting comes as second nature to the two of us, so I don’t know why he would want me to see him as anything more than what’s right in front of my face.

He rips my head backward, those familiar balls of ire piercing right through me when I look up. Digging my fingers into the fabric of his shirt, I say, “You don’t like me, Skylar. What could you possibly want from me?”

The shift in his eyes has me wishing I never asked. Now he just looks hurt, like I forced him to open a can of worms he wasn’t prepared to delve into yet.

“You think I’ve been waiting over a year to touch you because I don’tlikeyou?” he snaps, the pained crease in his brow tightening. His fingers leave my hair to come forward and stroke my face with an unexpected tenderness.

“We hate each other, isn’t that our whole shtick? You clearly needed to get laid, and so did I. You said it yourself, we live for going toe to toe. Nothing wrong with getting a good hate-fuck out of our systems so we can move on,” I explain. “We both got what we needed.”

Heeyes me scornfully and takes a step back, forcing a distance between us that leaves me completely bereft of his touch. “Clearly, youdid,” he scoffs.

The disappointment on his face might actually hurt more than anything he’s said or done to me before. “Sky—” I reach for his arm, but he turns and storms into the house without another word.

Great.

One more thing I’ve fucked up.

It feels like I’m mourning all over again. I’ve been seeking passion so ardently, I think I might have just spat in the face of the first person to really show me what it’s supposed to look like.

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