Page 27 of Heart Sick Hate

“He’s not sweet.”

Just boring. Vanilla. Plain.

Crew tilts his head. “He’s not me.”

“Maybe,” I agree. There’s no arguing with the fact that no one is as uncaring and brutal as Crew Kingsley. “But nothing is on my terms anymore. Nothing but this.”

I dare to step toward him. A flicker of interest in his eyes as I get closer to him than I’ve ever been before. Tipping my chin up, I’m met with those silvery-gray eyes that rattle me around.

I don’t want sweet. I don’t want gentle.

Which is why I react to him against my better judgment.

I want a reminder of how good I feel when I unleash my dark side.

“It’s one time,” I say, nearly a whisper. “Don’t worry, I won’t want to do it again.”

“You think that now.” He lifts his hand once more and fingertips brush lightly along my jaw.

“I know it.” Wanting him sexually and emotionally are two different things. “Please, Crew.”

The darkest smile crosses his face at my words, and he takes a step back. He turns and walks across the room, dropping into his leather chair once more and looking me over.

“Begging is a good start.” Crew plants his tattooed hands on the arms of the chair and grips it tightly. “But it’s better done on your knees.”

My eyes narrow, fighting every instinct inside that urges me to flip him off for talking to me like that.

But I asked for this.

I want this.

It’s why I showed up here instead of anywhere else.

“What do you want me to do? Pray to you,my lord?” Sarcasm drips from my tone, while the words make me shiver at the thought.

Crew’s sick smile hitches. “I don’t want your prayers, Echo. I’m no faux saint like my brother. I want your sins. I want to watch you burn for me. You want this? Then get on your knees, princess, and crawl.”

8

Echo

Crawl.

One word that goes against all my instincts.

It’s degrading. Disgusting. But worse, it sends a hot rush through me. My cheeks heat and I feel the blush crawling up my chest—my neck. In embarrassment or anticipation. I’ve never wanted to make a fool of myself more than with one word.

Crew watches me, not offering a flinch of an expression. He issued the challenge, and he’s waiting to see if I’ll accept it.

I shouldn’t.

This is probably a test because he doesn’t think I’m serious. He assumes if he pushes me to my limits I’ll turn and walk away. I’ll realize this was a bad idea and rescind my offer.

Trouble is, I can hate him all I want, but my body still responds to him in ways it doesn’t for anyone else, not even in my imagination.

I want this. I wanthim. And I’m prepared to prove he can’t scare me.

His sculpted chest is on display in the dark apartment. The curtains are drawn, and the city is lit beneath us. Darkness casts shadows on his features, sculpting a vicious, tattooed god my body wants to bow down to.

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