Page 59 of Moth
“Shut up!” Something inside me audiblysnaps!I hear it. Feel it. Succumb. My nails are digging into any part of him I can reach, and I draw blood. I stare at the ruts in shock as he seizes my shoulders and shoves me back. I push him harder.
And it feels so fuckinggoodto hurt him in any way that I can. Someone. Anyone. I want him to bleed. To ache. To know what it feels like to be so fucking raw on the inside and not understand why.
I hate him. God, I hate him.
When he reaches for me again, I clutch his arm and sink my teeth in.
“What the fuck?” He shoves me so hard that I go flying. My only salvation is I catch myself against a haphazard stack of boxes piled near the door.
“Psychobitch,” he snarls, but his stance is angled toward me, his weight balanced on the balls of his feet despite his injury. I’m reminded of a bullfighter purposely goading the beast he faces.
You want to fight? So fight.
My mind goes blank as I lunge at him, shrieking something wordless.
He grabs me before I can even touch him.Wham!My butt strikes the surface of the table, and then he’s flush against me, holding both of my arms trapped above my head.
Memory descends for an awful second—the sheer terror that comes with being rendered immobile…but unlike him, I still have use of my legs. “Let go!” I kick him until my arms are freed. Then I scratch. Slap. Bite. Draw blood.
My heart races, the pulsing sound goading me.Fight, Hannah. Fight, fight, fight.Kill. Kill. Kill.
My advantage doesn’t last long. He’s too big. Too heavy. There’s no recognition of the man staring down at me. Fire licks at the edges of those unfathomable irises while a sound like a growl rumbles up from his chest. I don’t think he’s even human anymore.
But neither am I.
“You’re a bastard,” I tell him. “I hate you! I fucking hate you!”
He doesn’t even flinch. He braces himself over me, relishing the power of his position. The strength that makes my attempts to escape futile. Leisurely, his hands palm my hips, pinning me down…crushing me while he leans in. His breath sears my lips in a warning before his mouth is on mine.
He wants me to panic. I know he does. Instead, my lips part out of sheer instinct, and our tongues clash, wrestle, and attack. I bite down hard, but for some reason, my legs wrap around his waist so he can’t pull away—not that he tries to. Grunting, he fists his hand in my hair and yanks. The pain is enough to make me release my jaw, and he eagerly takes advantage by plunging his tongue in so deep that I gag. Regardless, I copy the action, jabbing and striking.
Even that violence isn’t enough. I flex my fingers until the nails succeed in piercing the skin on his chest. I can almost smell the blood, and it doesn’t disgust me this time. I relish it. Crave it. I want more.
I hate him.Hate, hate, hate.
But when his hands go to my hips, I don’t resist, and once he grinds his pelvis into mine, the friction has me breaking free of the kiss just to grate my teeth. My knees clench, gripping him tighter until my heels dig into the back of his thighs, and he’s closer to me than anyone has ever been.
His heavy-lidded gaze warns that he knows as much. I can only gape as his hand dips between my legs and rubs through my panties. Once. Twice. Before I can fully adjust, he tugs the gusset aside and slides a finger beneath. Then inside me.
“Shit…” As if from far away, I hear him groan, echoing the gasp escaping my lips.
No one’s ever touched me like this. Nothing has everfeltlike this. Like being on fire yet submerged in ice at the same time. Conflicting. Intoxicating. My fingers flex greedily against his skin. I want more. With every stroke, the pleasure spreads. Muscles I never knew existed tighten in response, and before long, I’m undulating beneath him so violently that the table rocks in time with the motions.
My panties are soaked. His fingers are slick, and all I know is this all-encompassing burn has me reaching down to curl my hand around his wrist. Once again, he interprets my touch however he pleases, rubbing here…stroking there…all over.
I gasp when he withdraws his hand only forbothto seize my shirt and wrench it open right down the middle. His eyes greedily take advantage of my bare breasts while he tears the rest of the yellow cotton away. My panties, he drags down my legs and tosses on the floor, in addition to my skirt. Then he’s working on the latch of his jeans while I stare.
He makes it look artful almost. Like there’s some hidden skill required to undo a zipper with a flick of a thumb. Then tug, freeing himself entirely in a fall of denim—but that’s all he lets me see.
With a growl, he shoves me down, and then something new—something much fuller than his fingers—is between my legs. I only have a second to realize what’s happening. To admit to myself that Idon’twant whatever it is to stop…
One thrust of his hips and a part of me gives way with a cry I can’t even hope to silence. He’sinsideme, and the pinch is incredible. His heat is overwhelming. All consuming… I’m drowning beneath a million different sensations.
But his mouth finds my ear. “F-Fuck. You’re so tight…” Confusion laces his voice as his fingers prod my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes bore into mine, conveying a question I can’t answer. So I arch up, sealing my mouth over his instead.
He groans, rocking into me as I lock my knees around his waist. It feels like I’ll die if he doesn’t move. Explode. Combust.
My voice rings out, a stranger’s. “R-Rafe…”
