Page 165 of His To Erase
The ink across his chest is impossible to ignore—and I can’t help but trace the one that trails down his side, curving just beneath the waistband of his sweats.
My thighs clench before I can stop them, and I can feel my pulse throbbing between my legs.
Jesus.
I’m wet. Again.
Apparently, my body has zero survival instincts because the way he’s standing there is worse than anything he could say.
Under his stare, I feel it all flooding back. The hunger. The surrender. The way I’d crawl again right now if he told me to. He takes one slow step forward, with his eyes locked on me like I’m the next thing he’s going to devour.
I don’t even know what I was going to say and all I can think is,Goddamn it. He’s going to wreck me againand I’m going to let him. I clear my throat, eyes flicking back up to his face like I wasn’t just eye-fucking him and all his tattoos.
“You planning to put a shirt on, or are we doing this whole… kitchen striptease thing now?”
It’s meant to be sarcastic but it comes out breathless. His eyes narrow slightly, then he steps closer. I don’t back away, even though I should. I’m fucked in the head, apparently.
He doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me—close enough I can feel the heat coming off his bare skin. He leans in, and his mouth brushes the shell of my ear.
“You’re the one who started stripping me, pretty girl.”
My knees almost buckle as his fingers trail over my wrist. “You remember what happened last time you couldn’t stop looking.”
Of course I fucking remember. That will live rent free in my mind for life.
“You begged,” he murmurs. “You crawled. And I broke you open with my fingers before I even let you have my cock.”
I swear my pulse skips and I feel him everywhere.
“You want more?” he asks, deadly soft. “Keep looking at me like that.”
And just like that, I’m trembling again. My whole body’s humming, all too aware of every inch of his skin, and every slow breath between us. So I do the only thing I can do to shut it down.
I roll my eyes, scoffing through the burn in my throat. “God, you act like your dick has divine powers. Trust me, I’ve had better.”
The second I say it, I know I’ve gone too far. It’s a lie. A stupid, reckless, screaming lie. Because no one’s ever touched me like he has. No one’s ever looked at me like that—like they could tear me open with their hands and make me thank them for it.
He straightens and I can see that calm, cold mask slipping right into place—it’s dangerous how in control he is.
“You didn’t seem to mind when my cum was dripping down your thighs and you were moaning my name like it was salvation.”
I go still, but he doesn’t stop.
“You want the truth?” he says, cold enough to ruin me. “You looked wrecked. Your body already fucking knew it belonged to me. And you were so wet—” He leans in, eyes dark. “I could’ve buried my face between your legs and choked on it. I would’ve died happy, too.”
My chest heaves—I can’t tell if I want to slap him or crawl into his lap and make him say it again.
There is something seriously wrong with me.
No one should be allowed to talk to me like that, to say something that filthy and have my body light up like a christmas tree.
I swallow hard, trying to hold onto the anger, but it’s slipping—drowning under the heat pooling between my legs.
“I guess it’s easy to sound like God when you only fuck women who forget their standards.”
His jaw flexes. But instead of biting back, he smiles. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking a step toward me, “you didn’t forget your standards. You just never had any.”
I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off.
