Page 57 of His To Erase
Then—so soft I almost miss it—“Don’t let him take me…”
My chest goes still.
What the fuck happened to you?
I stare at her for too long. That raw sound of fear echoing in my head like a goddamn bell I can’t unring.
And who the fuck ishim?
Whoever it is, I want to meet him in a dark room with no cameras and the time to make it count.
My gaze drags down her body, taking in the shape of her, the mess of her hair sticking to her cheek, her bare leg curled up under her. She shifts again, her arm slipping down, and that’s when I see it—a faint, jagged, scar running along the inside of her forearm.
My stare lingers on it, but I make myself move. My footsteps are silent as I back toward the window.
My pulse is still thundering in my ears when I slip outside, closing the pane behind me like I wasn’t just standing in her space with one hand on her fucking secrets.
Back in my car, I sit for a second just breathing. But her voice keeps playing on a loop in my head.
Don’t let him take me…
She’s been through some shit, that much is obvious.
I need to get my head back in the game, whatever shit she’s tangled in, isn’t what I need to focus on right now.
I drive back to my place without even remembering the streets I turned on. My knuckles are white on the wheel the entire way. When I get inside, I don’t even bother turning on the lights. I slam the door behind me, throwing the phone on the table, and drag my hoodie off like it’s suffocating me.
My cock is already hard again.
The worst part wasn’t hearing her beg. It’s that I fucking liked it.
And if I had it my way, the only name she’d ever cry out in the dark would be mine—wrecked and trembling, the way she was in that library.
That voice.
That mouth.
That bratty, razor-edged attitude that makes me want to split her open just to see what she’s hiding underneath.
I drag a hand over my jaw as I step into the bedroom, but I don’t bother with the lights.
She’s seared into me now. Every fucking nerve ending is tuned to her.
She’s a walking contradiction—porcelain wrapped in warning labels, and soft curves strapped into combat boots. She’s built like a problem and dressed for the fallout.
Every time I've seen her, she’s in all black everything, like she’s been at war with the world and shows up to every battle already dressed for the funeral.
Every step she takes is a challenge. Every smile dares you to try and tame her.
And fuck me—I hope someone tries, so I can watch them bleed.
She’s small, stubborn, and unapologetically stunning. She’s the kind of girl who doesn’t ask for attention—she commands it.
And maybe I like the sharp edge of that. Maybe I want to bleed for it.
She’s not just pretty. She’s fucking dangerous. If it’s a reaction she wants, I’ll give her a reckoning.
I drop onto the edge of the bed, my jaw is locked, and blood is pounding through my veins like it’s got nowhere else to go.
