Page 109 of Cruel Malady: A Necrosis of the Mind

Alex moves in, but halts inches from my lips. A coy smile tugs at his mouth to make that infuriating dimple deepen in his cheek. “Why do you sleep with my shirt?”

My pulse trips. “To keep the fury burning.”

“So much passion.” His head shakes slightly. “Do you really want to be rid of it? That fire that lets you know you’re alive?”

I steel my features. “I would tear it out with my bare hands if I could.”

He feathers a finger down the side of my face, his hold around my neck cinching tighter. “You can fight it, even physically fight me, but you know what it feels like to make a deeper connection now. Even if it was possible, you can’t go back to that numb state. You’ll always crave me in your system.”

“God, I fucking hate you.”

“Show me how much you fucking hate me.”

The dare hovers—charged and volatile—in the sliver of air separating us. Waiting for one of us to move, to submit, and topple the first domino. Letting every wall and barrier crash down.

Since the day I ran from the fire, I’ve been trying to escape a blaze of emotions. Make them stop. Bury them. Do anything other thanfeelthem.

Sex is a drug, and like all drugs, it can deaden the pain. And all I want is one moment of relief.

I grab Alex’s shirt and drag him forward. We collide in a blistering inferno of lust and loathing and pure, unadulterated need.

I dig my ankles into his backside as my fingers fumble his shirt open. “I hate your stupid glasses,” I say, pulling away to tear his sleeves down his arms.

“I’m wearing contacts.” He tosses the garment to the floor and yanks his white undershirt off.

“I hate your pretty blue eyes.”

He fists the hem of my tank top and pulls it up over my head. “I love your stormy green gaze.”

My hands slip over his shoulders, my blunt nails raking down his back, as Alex grabs my ass and hauls me off the counter. He kisses me until I’m breathless, then drops my feet to the floor and spins me around.

I latch on to the rounded edge of the basin, chest aching, the pulse of the music competing with the pounding thump of my heart. He slips his hands to the front of my jeans and works the clasp open, lowering the zipper too agonizingly slow.

I slam my eyes shut against our reflection. “Just fucking do it.”

His movements stall. Then, with a fierce groan, he tugs the waist of my jeans down and spins me around, forcing my eyes on him.

Fire and ice clash in the depths of his eyes, an unhinged conflict of yearning and fury fighting for dominance.

Jaw clenched, he thrusts his hand down the front of my panties. His fingers rub over me with hot friction, and an ache pinches inside my core, buckling my knees. He spreads me open with two fingers, and I can sense how wet I am, how slick his fingers feel as he circles my clit before pushing inside me.

“Goddamn,” he mutters on an uneven breath. “Punching me gets you this wet…”

A flame of humiliation licks over me, and I don’t realize I’ve slapped him until my palm smarts with the sting. Alex licks his lip, gathering the fresh bead of blood, before he grabs the back of my neck with his bandaged hand and draws me closer.

I reach behind and grip the counter, arching my back as he furiously fucks me with his fingers. My nipples harden against the sheer material of my bralette, seeking the rough plane of his chest. The ache plunges deeper, snatching my breath, my hips undulating as I ride his hand shamelessly.

I rock my hips in desperate need to rub my clit against the heel of his hand, and Alex stops.

I open my eyes, my gaze meeting his through a haze of lust and crushing yearning that threatens to break me if he doesn’t touch me again soon.

“Tell me to taste you,” he says, his voice gravel with the harsh demand.

Breaths ragged, I match his intense stare. “No.”

Before I lose my mind to him, I embrace the surging anger and shove his chest, breaking his connection. His effort to capture my arms is thwarted as I jab his wounded ribs. I shoulder past him, so close to escaping, until his arms lock around my waist.

He crushes my back to his chest. “Is a fight what you need?”

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