Page 10 of Nightmare

“I know he did.”

“Huh?” I ask, looking down into his eyes, frowning when I see the amusement there.

“You really think I would have been able to sleep at night in there if I knew he was still around? I made Phoenix and Tryst go and threaten him before he left the hospital.”

“When did you do that?”

“As soon as they let me call them,” he answers, his cold fingers brushing the backs of my knees. “My first call was you. And my second. And my third. But you never picked up,” he reminds me, sinking back into my body with a heavy exhale. “I used my fourth call to make sure that little fucker never laid eyes on you again.”

I try to stay pissed at him and the boys for doing that—I’m really trying—but I’m still hung up on the other things he said.

My first call was you.

“Are you mad at me, Atty?”

“Yes.”

“You wanna hurt me?”

“Yes,” he says honestly, reaching up to cup the back of my neck. “But you already know I won’t. I can’t. No matter what happens. I’ll kill myself before I ever hurt you for real.”

I nod and chew the inside of my cheek, reaching over him to grab the tequila from the bottom step.

“Truth or dare?” he asks.

“Truth,” I blurt out, surprising us both.

He grins like he’s won this little game of his. I expect him to be an asshole about it, but it seems he’s not shameless enough to force me to admit things I’m not sure I’ll ever say out loud again.

“Why aren't you wearing any panties right now?”

I raise a brow at that. “You know why.”

“Say it anyway.”

“Because,” I start, dipping my head to press my lips to his ear. “I like the way these fishnets feel against my clit every time I move.”

He curses and turns around to face me, forcing himself between my legs until he’s right on top of me, the steps digging painfully into my back. “Your turn,” he says.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

Oh fuck.

My brows pull in, and I open my mouth, but instead of saying what I’m supposed to say, I say the complete opposite. “I dare you to drop the act.”

“What?”

“I know you’re holding back,” I rasp, even though my head is screaming at me to shut the fuck up. “Stop pretending to be something you’re not and show me the boy I fell for.”

The look on his face is pure evil, but I’m not afraid of him. I’m all keyed up now, squirming beneath him, impatiently waiting to see what he’ll do next.

After what feels like minutes but is probably only a few seconds, he curls his fingers over the tank top I’m wearing and rips it down the middle, just like I thought about him doing when I put it on tonight. I’m not wearing a bra, so my chest is fully exposed to him. He clamps his teeth around my nipple, and a squeal escapes me at the sting, but he doesn’t let up. He bites me harder, punishing me for what I did to him, laughing when I whimper and try to pull him off by his hair.

“Atty, stop.”

He does stop, but only to lift his head and move on to the other nipple, giving it the same painful treatment as he did the first one. I’m damn near screaming now, digging my nails into his scalp and bucking my hips up, desperate to throw him off me. It fucking hurts, but this is what I asked for, isn’t it? To face the real Atticus head-on. My Atticus. The one who does and takes what he wants, whenever he wants…fuck the consequences.

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