Page 40 of Hate Mates

“Cut it the fuck out!” she burst. “You won, okay?”

“What did I win, huh?” A near-lifetime obsession with a woman who wouldn’t let me have her? Nightmares of her pain?

“Do you date?” Was this some kind of trick question? “Because I don’t. I hardly leave my house. People stare at me in public when I do. They think I can’t hear them, but I can. I have to live the rest of my life with his mark on me. He made sure I never forget him.”

“Sut—”

“No, shut up.” She held up a hand at me. “I’m so tired of you dominating a conversation, of your fucking mind games, of the emotional whiplash because you still can’t decide whether you want me or want to destroy me, but at this point, I don’t care.”

I zipped it up.

“Your scars are in here.” She tapped her temple. “But this?” She gestured to her face. “There’s no erasing this. Men get scars and they get recognized for their bravery. But women? Well, the only reason people look our way is to stare.” Her sodden voice wobbled. “Your life changed, Damien. I’m not denying that. But it also continued. Mine ended that night. So please spare me from your self-righteous, holier-than-thou shit.”

“I picked that choice because a world where you don’t exist isn’t worth living in.” Her jaw snapped close, her blinking turning furious. I stepped in closer. “That’s the real version of hell.” She didn’t pull away when I lifted a hand, testing the length of her jaw with the back of my knuckles, drifting higher and higher despite the flaring of her nostrils and the fear glinting her too-blue irises.

“I would have done anything for you, Sutton. I would have followed you anywhere.” She stiffened. “Istillwould.”

“Why?”

“Because I—” My mouth snapped shut. I, what? I told her I loved her and then had to deal with the aftermath of hearing how she still wanted nothing to do with me?

At my prolonged silence, she stepped away, silently dismissing me. Sutton dropped the towel, giving me her naked back.

My chest blanketed her spine, my forehead landing on the curve of her exposed shoulder.

I couldn’t leave.

Stay away.

Let her go.

She turned her cheek a little my way. “What’s wrong, Damien?” she whispered, taunting me. “The guilt eating at you? Want to pity fuck me?”

Was that an invitation? I leaned in close to her marred cheek, skimming the scar, trailing over to her ear. “I want to eat you.” I nudged her lobe. “ThenI want to fuck you.”

Her heart drummed against my chest, the shift in her breathing audible like a fracture in her resolve had dared to show itself to me. The hand I had settled on the expanse of her belly rose and fell with each inhale and exhale she let out, proof of life, my gaze shifting to the smooth mound between her legs.

I was deluded enough to believe she’d done that just for me. My hand inched downward at a dizzying pace, every inch surging each blood vessel in my veins. Sutton backed into me, her tight gasp sharp when she collided directly with my erection.

There was no mistaking how I physically felt about her.

My opposite hand collared her neck while my fingers parted her slick flesh, her body’s honey adorning my fingers. “Fuck,” I groaned into her neck, and whether she wanted to or not,she lifted her left arm to hook around my neck, holding me in place as my index finger dipped inside of her, and she squeezed around my digits while precum gathered at the tip of my cock.

I rutted against her, finding a rhythm with my fingers, regret and frustration winding through me over all the time I’d lost with her, the time I’d deprived myself of because I’d spent it resenting her for leaving me. Sutton rolled her hips, matching the tempo of my fingers, grinding down on my cock, the slick squelch of my ministrations filling the room with an erotic soundtrack that was every bit as fucking filthy as I’d always imagined it would.

“Get on all fours.” I gave her a careful nudge toward the bed, and she stumbled forward in a daze, blue eyes a little guarded, her teeth worrying her bottom lip.

When she didn’t move, I hooked a hand behind my back, peeling my T-shirt over my head. I shucked off my sweats and boxers next, kicking them to the side, letting her get a better look at me.

Her horrified gaze flared. “What did you do?” Sutton’s hands shot for my chest, her trembling fingers abrading ragged, healed over angry scars marking me as hers. “Damien.”

My hands swathed hers. “Believe me yet?”

She licked her lips, and I guided her delicate fingers over each letter, tracing out her name where I branded myself.

I prodded my nose against hers. “You’re my first to last love.”

Sutton didn’t respond, but she didn’t have to.

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