Page 39 of Dark Ink

“Sign my fucking form,” she shot back.

“Come here, Eithne.”

“Why won’t you just let me go?”

I looked up from the pottery wheel as it slowed. Our eyes met across the light-stripped room as it came to a stop. I felt the clay unmoving beneath my fingers.

In the silence I wondered if she could see. See that I wouldn’t let her go. That I couldn’t. It was the last thing in the world she wanted, to be let go.

I could hold her like that un-beating clay loose in my hands. I could be gentle, smooth my palms against her curves like she was made of water. But I knew she didn’t actually want me to be gentle. She wanted my violent need, my furious desire. Screw, slow. Fuck, gentle. Slow and gentle were for ghosts pretending to be alive. There was too much life inside her, too much unlit fire, a bed of kindling in her soul that was just waiting for a spark.

I wondered if she could see herself reflected in my eyes. See her desire. See her need. See that her body was calling for mine. See that it was entirely outside of our control now.

“I’m not signing that form.”

With a growl she balled the paper in her fist. “Why can’t just one person in my life try to make things easier on me? Why can’t just one fucking man help me?”

“You’ll thank me.”

“Thank you? Thank you?”

She dug her nails into a block of clay on the nearest table and threw the torn piece at me. It collided with my chest like a fist at the boxing gym.

“Fuck you!” she shouted, panting as her chest heaved.

I retrieved the clay from where it had fallen and added it to my clay on the wheel. Eithne’s breathing got more frantic when I turned on the wheel again. A second chunk of clay hit me on the shoulder. I collected this one much the same.

Her footsteps were fast and erratic. A little crazy. Just the way I liked them.

I turned and Eithne was standing before me. Before I could say a word, she jammed her hands into the clay, destroying my work. Our fingers touched amongst the cool wetness. Our eyes locked. There was frustration there. Fury even. But there…in the depths of all that hatred, was a spark.

Eyes not leaving mine, she pulled her hands free and dragged them, covered to the wrist in wet clay, down my chest.

She was on fire now. There was no going back. No extinguishing it.

She knew that now.

Me? I’d always known.

Eithne

I’d wanted to hurt him.

Whether I realised it in the moment or not, I’d wanted him to feel pain. The clay was heavy. Solid. Dense. I heard the smack of it against his chest. I hadn’t held back as I drew back my arm. I hadn’t hesitated as I whipped it forward. There was no regret as I watched it sail, sent with the force of all my frustration, all my hurt, all my anger. It was what I wanted. The look of surprise. The look of discomfort. The look of betrayal and desire and magnetism.

I’d wanted to hurt him, because I was sure he was going to hurt me. I was never more sure of anything in my life. And I was sure I was going to let him. I was sure I was going to yearn for him to hurt me. Beg for him to hurt me. Dream of him hurting me, awake to him hurting me, come back as he hurt me time and time again.

When I dragged my hands down his chest, fingers catching in the thin material of his t-shirt, I felt like I’d lost. The battle was already over. Rian, the victor. Me, the vanquished. I was fully clothed, and yet it felt like he was already inside of me. Already thrusting his cock as I clutched for purchase on his sweat-slick skin. Already gasping for more as he claimed me. Made me his. His little slut. His little whore.

I stared at the clay marks I’d left on him as Rian stared at me. I could feel his gaze on me. Steady, but not for long. The storm cloud inside them threatened thunder and lightning and total devastation.

My fingers trailed away at Rian’s lower stomach, brushing against the outline of his erection. His hard cock.

I flinched back. Fuck, what was I doing? I stumbled back. “I…I have to go.”

I made to leave but he stopped me with his hand around my upper arm then my neck, forcing me to look at him, not hard, just enough pressure to let me know that I wasn’t going anywhere.

My skin felt electrified, my nipples straining against my shirt, desperate to be touched by him. God, why was I responding this way?

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