Page 77 of His To Erase
The fact that she’s trying to hide it and trying to pretend she’s fine, makes me want to grab her and demand answers. The sick part—the dark, violent part of me that I don’t let out unless I have to—wants to find out who the fuck put that look in her eyes.
If someone’s trying to take her apart, I’ll make sure they don’t live long enough to finish the job.
I should leave her the fuck alone, but I’m not going to. The moment she turns down the aisle, it’s like the air shifts.
She doesn’t see me at first—she’s too busy pretending to be busy. She has books clutched tightly in her hands, and her fingers are flexing around the covers like she’s holding onto sanity by a thread.
Her already cropped shirt rides up just enough when she stretches, revealing that infuriating strip of skin just beneath her tits, and it’s a fucking invitation that has my dick hard in seconds.
I don’t move. I just wait until she feels me. And I know the second she does. I see the way her steps slow, and her breath stutters. Her spine straightens as she turns her head. Her eyesfind mine and just like that, her walls slam up. The mask she wears settles into place like a second skin.
But I already saw what was underneath. I saw the way her body reacted before her brain caught up and fuck, if that doesn’t make me want to tear that mask off with my teeth.
I close the distance, slow enough for her to feel it, and she backs up. She can’t go far—but it’s just enough to hit the end of the shelf.
I cage her in with one hand braced above her head, the other grazing her hip, and I feel her body melt into my touch.
“You always this jumpy,” I murmur, “or just when you know I’m about to ruin you?”
She glares up at me. “You’re in my way.”
“I know.”
She plants her hand against my chest, like she might shove me off—but she doesn’t. I almost laugh because it’s a boundary I could break in half with one breath.
“Are you always this cocky,” she fires back, “or just when you're creeping up on women like a damn stalker?”
She sounds like she’s on edge, but I can feel her giving up. I smirk. “Don’t pretend you didn’t feel me before I touched you.”
Her jaw clenches. “I should knee you in the balls. Maybe that’ll teach you to sneak up on people.”
“You won’t.”
“Wanna bet?”
My eyes drag down to where her fingers still rest against my sternum. “If you meant that, I’d already be on the floor.”
She huffs, but she doesn’t pull away. So I lean in—close enough that her breath stutters—and brush my lips against the shell of her ear, letting my voice drop to a lethal whisper.
“You smell like someone who isn’t me.”
She stiffens.
I don’t need confirmation, I already know. But I want to hear it from her lips. I want her to say it, to admit it. So I can carve it into my ribs and let it fester there long enough to justify everything I’m about to do.
My hand dips lower, dragging along the waistband of her shorts, teasing in a way that makes her twitch against the shelf.
“Did he make you come?”
I ask it like I don’t already know the answer. Like I haven’t memorized the way her body moves when she lies.
She says nothing, but her silence tells me everything.
I slide my hand higher, slipping beneath her shirt like I’ve got all the time in the world. My fingers splay across her ribs, and her skin is hot and soft against my palm. At this point, I’m not sure I could stop if she asked me to.
“Tell me,” I breathe, my mouth ghosting over her ear.
Her answer is barely a whisper. “No.”
