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“What are you talking about?”

She’s full of shit.

Full. Of. Shit.

I might not have heightened senses like the others, but it’s written all over her, just as it’s written into every piece of me.

Inching closer, I expect her to put more force into her palms, keeping me at bay, but she does nothing. “I didn’t get a good night kiss, never mind a chance to get you out of my system on Friday, Dagger.”

Her jaw falls slack as she gapes at me before she shakes her head subtly. “Move on, fuck someone else,” she grumbles, and I only wish it was that easy.

“I tried.”

“What?” She rears her head back like the fact is a kick in the teeth. If I were a guessing man, I would believe that’s jealousy in her eyes, but I know more than anything she would deny it until she’s blue in the face.

“I tried. Getting over someone is easier when you get under someone else. I tried it. Tried doesn’t feel like a strong enough word, but here I am, still obsessed with you.”

She searches my eyes. For what? I don’t fucking know, so I let the silence consume us until she scoffs. “Do you want me to give you a pity handjob or something?” she asks, cocking a brow at me as she tries to laugh this away.

“Fuck no,” I grunt, my muscles tensing with a need like I’ve never felt before. How can someone have such an effect on somebody else while trying to remain unfazed like this?

“What do you want then, Brody?” she repeats, only this time her voice is laced with anger. “I don’t like you.” Not true, I can see it in her eyes. “I’m certain I might hate you for the shit you pulled.” Fuck that. “Accident or not, and?—”

Fuck all of that.

I cut off her next words with my lips against hers, fusing us together as heat swirls between us. Her lips are soft, full, and hot as sin.

I need more.

Stroking one hand down her cheek, I cup her chin, deepening the kiss when she still doesn’t push me away. Tipping her head back a little, I get to delve between her lips and claim even more of her for a split second before she starts fighting back.

Not for me to get off.

No.

For control.

Fuck.

Her hands ball into fists, tugging at my t-shirt beneath my cloak, bringing me closer to her as I shift my hand to her throat, pinning her in position. The groan that vibrates against my palm brings my dick to full mast as I press against her. She’s flush against my body, not an inch of room between us from head to toe.

I bring my other hand to her waist beneath her cloak, a little disappointed to not find any daggers along her ribcage like on Friday, but at least she can’t use one against me this time.

My blood is a raging inferno from her touch, ready to tear through my body and envelop us both in a heat like no other.

Fighting for control, our lips and tongues dance together as our hands roam. Her hands tug at my t-shirt, and a satisfied moan parts her lips a moment later when her palms touch my bare skin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

As much as I don’t want to ruin the moment, I don’t want her to regret this later, feeling like I forced this. “Hate fucking is far superior to any sympathy shit you were talking about. Tell me you’re in,” I breathe against her lips, not giving her much room to escape me, but I’m asking at least.

She ignores me at first, continuing to kiss my lips, which I gladly reciprocate, but when her fingers dance along the waistband of my pants, I know I need to hear those words from her.

“Tell me, Dagger. Give me the words.”

“No,” she rasps, shaking her head as her eyes pry open and settle on mine.

“Why?”