Page 90 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“I wanna see you––”

“Trust me. You wanna wait a few more months before you wanna see me again,” I joke, sucking on his neck.

Offended, he pulls away, and his dark eyes narrow.

“There a problem?” I ask, my head cocked.

“Yeah.”

I jerk back a few inches, the sharpness in his gaze acting like a damn machete. His fingers dig into my thighs, preventing me from putting any real distance between us, and I wiggle in his grasp.

“Let me down.”

“No.”

I push against his chest and unhook my legs, but he tightens his grip around me, his fingertips bruising my thighs.

“Milo––”

Shoving me up against the wall next to the damn light switch, he growls, “You think I don’t want to devour every inch of you?”

“I’m sure you do, but I’d prefer you do it with the lights off.”

“Not an option.”

“Excuse me?” I return, amazed he still knows how to make me feel as light as a damn feather whenever I’m in his arms.

“Not an option. I’ve dreamt of the look on your face when I bury myself inside you again. I’m not gonna miss it.”

I roll my eyes. “Milo––”

“Stop arguing.” He flicks the switch, casting the room in bright light and making me squint. I smack his chest.

“You don’t get it.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” I argue.

His hand slams against the wall near my head as he moves in closer. “Yes, Madelyn. I fuckingdoget it. I saw your face the night I brought a girl home. I saw the way it cut you. The way you immediately compared yourself to her.”

Dropping my gaze to the ground, I mumble, “I don’t need you to remind me you’ve been with someone else, Milo.”

“Look at me, Mads.”

I shake my head.

“Look. At. Me.”

Sniffing, I stare at his worried brow, unable to hold his gaze for the life of me. It’s too much.

“Do you know how drunk I had to get to bring her home?”

“Milo––”

“Do you know how dark I had to have this room so I could go through with it?”

“Stop,” I beg.

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