Page 166 of His To Erase
“You let me touch you the same day we met. You crawled for me like you had no self-respect left to give. Don’t act like you’re hard to break when you gave me everything without asking for a single fucking thing back.”
The words hit like a punch to the chest and my throat burns, but I force the words through it.
“Right,” I snap, eyes narrowing. “Because you’re such a fucking prize. You think I didn’t feel it?”
He doesn’t answer. So I go for the throat.
“I know who you are now, Steven.” His name tastes like venom. “I know exactly who I let crawl inside me.”
His jaw ticks, but he still says nothing. The silence between us shatters and reconstructs a hundred different ways, all of them jagged.
“Or maybe you liked pretending I didn’t know. Maybe that made it easier to treat me like a hole instead of a person you can’t fucking stop wanting.”
That hits somewhere deep, but he doesn’t let it show. Not with his face. Just the way his whole body goes still.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice is a low, lethal threat. “Keep talking like that and I’ll remind you exactly how much you liked being used.”
“Go to hell,” I growl, pushing past him.
“Already there,muñeca. You just made it feel like home.”
I stop. Dead in my tracks. The words bury themselves somewhere under my ribs and light the whole place on fire.Why would he call me that?
I turn slowly.
“Funny,” I hiss, “you only ever seem to hate me when your cock’s not inside me.”
Something flickers in his eyes, but then he laughs. “Don’t flatter yourself, baby. I’ve fucked a lot of girls who begged.”
His next words come like a knife to the throat. “Difference is, they didn’t crawl for me with someone else’s fingerprints still on them.”
Silence detonates between us and my stomach drops, but my blood turns electric.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
He steps closer, eyes black with something unreadable—something mean.
“You heard me. Maybe you should think a little harder about the men you spread your legs for. Starting with the one who owned you before I ever touched you.”
He doesn’t say his name but he doesn’t need to. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and my face burns. My fists curl so tight my nails dig half-moons into my palms. And when I speak, my voice is shaking with fury.
“You don’t get to talk about me like that,” I whisper. “You don’t get to use what you think you know as a weapon.”
“I’m not wrong though, am I?” he growls, stepping in like he wants to drive the knife deeper. “I see it in your eyes every timehe’s near you. And worse—every time you look at me, like you’re still trying to figure out who you belong to.”
Are we fighting? Because I didn’t come in here looking for one, but apparently all we do is fuck or fight—or both at the same time. I was just trying to breathe, and now I’m angry and exposed and staring at him like it’s his fault I feel everything too loud.
“Go fuck yourself, Steven.”
I turn around and don’t stop walking, because if I do, I’ll scream. Or hit him. Or worse—I’ll stay. My feet carry me down the hall on instinct alone and my breath is caught somewhere between a sob and a snarl. I can’t hear anything over my heartbeat. I shove the bedroom door open and slam it behind me like it might erase everything he just said.
You liked being used.
I suck in a breath that tastes like betrayal and every bad choice I’ve ever made because it’s not just the words—it’s the way he said them.
I press my back to the door, keeping my fists clenched at my sides. My heart races as that heat rushes up my throat. I’m so fucking pissed, and humiliated that I let him see me like that. I sat there and let him pull me apart in ways no one ever has and now he’s tossing it back in my face like it meant nothing.
Fuck that.
