Page 184 of His To Erase
He grins—smug and feral. “Eat.”
I do. And when I finish, he doesn’t say anything for a long moment—his dark eyes just watch me.
“Talk.”
I blink. “About?”
“Do you want to come again tonight?” he asks, already standing, circling behind me. “Then you’re gonna answer my questions.”
His fingers graze my neck possessively. “You tell me something real… and I’ll reward you.”
I tense. “You’re bribing me with orgasms?”
He leans down, lips brushing my ear as he smirks. “No. I’m training you to be honest.”
A shiver rakes down my spine. I can’t decide if I hate that… or want more of it.
“Well?” he murmurs, his hand trailing lower. “Start talking.”
I scrape the last bite from my plate and push it away, standing slowly. I make a beeline for the couch and tug the throw blanket over my hips—like it’ll somehow erase the fact that I’m still bare underneath.
He sinks down beside me with slow, predatory ease, draping one arm across the back of the couch, and the other is already under the blanket, resting on my thigh, drawing slow circles on my skin.
“Start talking,” he murmurs again. “Something real.”
I glare at the screen—Slughorn mumbling, Harry chasing shadows, but all of it blurs at the edges because he’s doing that thing again with his fingers.
“I used to dream in Spanish,” I say suddenly.
Steven doesn’t move, but I feel him tense.
I swallow hard, but keep going. “When I was little. My mom always made me speak English, even in our house, but when I was alone—when I dreamed—it was Spanish. Still is sometimes.”
Silence.
“I didn’t even realize it until… Someone made fun of me for mumbling in my sleep. Said I sounded like I was casting a curse.” A laugh slips out. “They weren’t wrong.”
His hand shifts, brushing slightly closer to my entrance. “Our house was always loud, and there was always someone yelling, playing salsa music or frying something with too much oil. My favorite part was in the mornings, the windows would fog up, and you could always smell rain in the air before it hit.”
His touch stills on my thigh. “What else?”
I shift under his hand, pulse kicking. “You first. This isn’t one sided.”
He stares at me for a second, like he’s deciding how much to give me. Then he speaks.
“Alright.” He exhales through his nose. “There was a girl I grew up with. Not by blood—but she called me her brother. AndI let her. Hell, I probably needed her just as much as she needed me.”
His thumb moves once on my thigh, slow.
“I started working for her father, and the first job he sent me on, I thought I was supposed to be watching her. Keeping her safe. Thought it was a test.” He huffs a breath. “Turns out she was there to watch me.”
He pauses. “She made that real clear when she disarmed me five minutes in and told me my stance was shit.”
He shakes his head once, like the memory still stings. “I was twenty-one, cocky as hell, and ready to prove something. She was seventeen and already better than most men I knew. Smarter, too. And meaner than hell when she had to be.”
His expression shifts, hardening with something darker. I sit with it for a second, then glance down at where his hand rests on my thigh. “Let me guess. You were the reckless one?”
His mouth curves. “No. I was the weapon they kept on a leash until they wanted something dead.”
