Page 22 of Forced By the Obsessed Bratva
Her eyes glinted. “You’re a monster.”
“It’s good that you already know what I am,” I growled, fighting to restrain myself from leaning in for another kiss. “Stop tempting me unless you want me.”
She stared at me, her fingers trembling at her mouth.
My lips curled with a smile. “You’ll think of me when you touch your lips,” I murmured. “No one else. Just me.”
Her cheeks turned red with a blush, her breath hitching for a moment before the fire in her eyes returned.
But she didn’t argue. She scoffed and didn’t utter a word when we exited the club.
She didn’t look in my direction.
Not when I opened the car door. Not when I slipped into the car next to her, city lights flashing over her face.
Her arms were pinned hard across her chest, her chin up, but her body convulsed with suppressed rage. She didn’t have anything to say, but her silence screamed.
Good.
Let her rage. Let it burn.
It was better than fear.
Igniting the car engine, I sped away from the driveway and into the night with Zoella seething beside me.
No one had ever dared to talk back at me or even raise their voice at me. No one had ever shown so much defiance in front of me in my entire life.
No one except for her.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she said finally.
Her own voice was rough and deep, hardly louder than the growl of the tires on asphalt.
“What?” I asked, even though I already knew what she was talking about.
“Following me. Grabbing me. Telling me who I can or cannot touch.” She turned to face me, flames dancing in her eyes. “You don’t get to play at owning me. I’m not property.”
“You’re mine.”
She turned back to the window. “You’re an asshole. There’s no winning with you.”
“I’m worse,” I whispered, glancing away from the road for a moment to look at her. “And yet you let me kiss you.”
Her head swiveled around. “I didn’t let you.”
I smirked. I loved her defensiveness even more than I loved her defiance. “Then why are your lips still swollen?”
She pulled away as if I had slapped her.
Then she turned away once more, speaking softly. “You don’t intimidate me.”
“No,” I breathed. “But I should.”
The rest of the ride was quiet. Not peaceful or calm. Just quiet and heavy, like the inside of a bomb before it goes off.
The gates swung open on the Carter estate as we pulled up.
Blake was already outside, waiting, shoulders rolled forward, tension carved into his face.
