Page 214 of His To Erase
I hear him move behind me. “Where were you?”
“You don’t get to ask me that,” I snap, turning to face him. “And what, now you’re going to show up and play watch dog.”
I brush past him, heading straight for the sink, pretending I’m not seconds from combusting. The faucet creaks when I turn it on, I just need something to do with my hands before I use them for violence. Or worse—for begging.
I don’t look at him when I speak.
“Are you always this invasive, or am I just your favorite little project?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him come up behind me. He’s close enough that my spine straightens and my mouth goes dry.
“I don’t owe you softness. I owe younothing. But you’re still mine.”
And just like that, something sharp and traitorous cracks open in my chest. I hate how he crawls under my skin and settles there like he belongs. I almost forget why I was mad.Almost.
“I told you to stay away from him.”
The switch flips. I spin to face him, “You don’t get to tell me shit.”
His jaw clenches. “You ran, Ani. Again.”
And that’s the one that hits too deep. He’s not wrong there.
He pushes off the counter slowly, every inch of his movement is deliberate. “What did he say?”
I glare. “Why? So you can twist it into another half-truth?”
“I’m not the one keeping secrets.”
“Oh, fuck you.”
He steps closer as my back hits the edge of the sink and I brace both hands behind me like it’ll hold me together. He smells like cold air and fury and something darker that makes my pussy tremble.
“Did he touch you?” Steven’s voice drops.
“Jesus Christ, are you serious?”
His eyes are all heat and violence with that unreadable stillness he wears like a second skin.
“Did. He. Fucking. Touch. You.”
My whole body flashes hot, then cold. My fists ball, while my pussy throbs for his attention. I shove at his chest—hard. “What difference does it make?”
It’s a stupid question because we both know the answer.
His hand snaps up, catching my wrist before I can land another hit. He just holds me there like he’s reminding me I’m not going anywhere unless he lets me. And fuck me, it should make me afraid. But all it does is make my thighs press together.
I can feel it. That slow, shameful throb building between my legs like I’m wired wrong. Or I’m just hardwired for him.
His voice is a threat all by itself. “Because if he did, he dies slower.”
I laugh, but I get the feeling he’s not joking. “Frank’s not the only one playing games, I see.”
His grip tightens enough to remind me he’s still in control, even when I’m pretending I’m not about to melt in his palm.
“What did you hear?”
I should lie. Instead, I meet his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you already know? Seems like you’ve got all the answers.”
