Page 106 of You Were Always Mine
“Stop lying to me,” he growls, low, guttural. “I can feel it, Scar. Every time you open your mouth, I can taste it.”
Something in me snaps. The fear, the shame, the exhaustion—it all combusts under the weight of his stare. My palms slam against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. My voice rips out anyway, raw and splintered.
“You don’t get it, do you?” The words pour out, venom tangled with sobs. “You don’t want the truth—you want me shattered. You want me broken so you can say I needed you, that I couldn’t survive without you!”
“Scarlett—”
“You don’t want me, Kai. You just don’t want anyone else to have me!” My voice pitches higher, hysterical, my fists still thudding against his chest as tears burn hot and unrelenting. “So congratulations, you’ve got what you wanted. I’m already fucking broken!”
The words hang between us, jagged and dangerous, louder than the pounding in my chest. His jaw flexes like he’s going to snarl, but his grip on me only tightens, trembling with something I can’t name.
The last word barely leaves my mouth before his hand clamps around my throat, shoving me harder into the wall. The plaster rattles at my back, his face inches from mine, eyes wild.
“Broken?” His breath scorches across my lips, his grip tightening until I choke on the sob caught in my throat. “You think I wanted this? You think I don’t fucking hate myself every second I can’t stop touching you?”
My fingers claw at his wrist, but he doesn’t let go. He leans closer, his body pressing mine into the wall until I can feel every taut, furious line of him.
“You’re right, Scar,” he spits, low and savage. “I don’t want anyone else to have you. Not anyone. Because you’re mine.”
His thumb drags under my jaw, forcing my chin higher as his eyes blaze down at me. “So don’t stand here screaming about being broken when you’re the one who begged me to ruin you. Don’t act like you didn’t fucking want it.”
His words slice sharper than his grip, and I can’t breathe around the shame flooding me, can’t stop my body from trembling even as I try to spit back.
His mouth crushes mine before I can spit venom back, his tongue forcing past my lips like he owns every breath inside me. I shove at his chest, fists beating against muscle, but he only snarls into the kiss and drags my wrists above my head, pinning them hard against the wall.
“Say you didn’t want this,” he growls against my mouth, grinding his hips into me until I feel the hard, brutal truth of him through his jeans. “Say it, Scar.”
I try, I swear I try, but the sound that comes out of me isn’t no—it’s a broken moan.
His free hand is everywhere at once—cupping, clawing, tearing at my shirt until it burns across my skin. His teeth scrape my throat, leaving marks that will bloom dark, and I arch helplessly even as shame rips me apart.
“You hate me?” His words are filth whispered hot in my ear, his hips rutting harder against me, grinding me into the plaster. “Then why are you soaking? Why’s your little body begging when your mouth still lies?”
I gasp, head knocking back against the wall, wrists aching under his hold as his fingers slip beneath my waistband, cruel and sure.
His grip bruises my wrists against the wall, the pressure so harsh I can feel my pulse hammering against his palm. His other hand shoves past denim and lace, no hesitation, no mercy—just heat and thick fingers splitting me open like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it.
I struggle to breathe, flailing, but the noise I make is a desperate, filthy sound. His mouth catches it, swallowing my cry as his fingers drive in deeper, curling until my knees nearly give out.
“Don’t fight me, Scar,” he growls into the corner of my mouth, his breath ragged, his body grinding mine into the plaster. “You can’t. You fucking want this too much.”
And it’s true. God, it’s true. The slick mess between my thighs betrays me, every desperate clench around his fingers dragging another broken sound from my throat.
His thumb circles cruelly, fast, making me sob against his chest. He bites down hard on my jaw, snarling, “Tell me how much you hate me now. Say it while I make you cum.”
Tears burn down my cheeks, my head thrashing against the wall. I want to scream that I do, that I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone—but my body’s already convulsing around his fingers, humiliating me, wringing the truth out in wet, filthy cries.
He rips his hand from between my thighs so suddenly I almost sob at the loss, my body clenching down on nothing, left aching and wet. He shoves his slick, rough, and demanding fingers against my lips before I can even breathe.
“Open.” His voice is pure venom, threaded with hunger.
I shake my head, panic flaring, but he presses harder, smearing the mess across my mouth until I taste myself anyway, bittersweet and humiliating. His thumb digs into my chin, forcing me open, and then his fingers are past my lips, pushing deep onto my tongue.
“Good girl,” he rasps, eyes burning down into mine like he wants to brand me there. “Taste what you do for me. Taste how fucking desperate you are for me.”
My throat convulses, shame blistering every nerve as he presses his fingers deeper, until I gag around them, choking on the slick proof of my betrayal.
His forehead presses to mine, his words breaking, filthy and tender at once:
