Page 136 of His To Erase

“You done throwing your little tantrum?”

It comes from behind me, closer now. I spin around, but still don’t see him.

“You think I’m gonna chase you down like some idiot with a savior complex?”

I can’t breathe, I can’t see, and God help me—I’m so fucking turned on, it’s embarrassing.

My hands curl into fists, because if I don’t do something, I’ll come undone just from the sound of his voice in the dark.

“I didn’t ask you to follow me!” I yell, spinning again. But it comes out breathless and wrecked.

“No,” he snaps, closing the distance like a goddamn storm. His voice crashes through the trees behind me, and then suddenly—he’s in front of me again.

“But you knew I would.”

His hand grabs my chin, rough and claiming, tilting my face up until there’s nowhere to look but him.

“You don’t get to run from this,” he growls. “Not when your thighs are shaking. Not when your cunt’s still soaked. Not when you walked out that door because you wanted me to fucking take you.”

I gasp—sharp and involuntary—because fuck him and his goddamn audacity. My brain’s still scrambling for a comeback, something vicious and lethal, but my pulse is pounding in places that make it hard to think. He’s right. I want him so fucking much, it’s hard to think.

My pussy absolutely wants this, but before I can run or decide if I want to drop to my knees and make him earn it—he slams me back against the nearest tree. The bark bites through my clothes, and he’s all heat and fury and sex, pressing into me like he wants to brand every inch of my skin with his name.

Then his hand catches both of mine and pins them above my head—hard.

I gasp again, but this time I’m not sure if it’s fear or foreplay.

His other hand drags down my side, over the curve of my waist and suddenly I’m all too aware of his cock pressing between my thighs, grinding against my core, thick and hard and furious, like he’s daring me to pretend I don’t want it.

“You can hate me all you want,” he growls. His voice sounds like smoke and hellfire against my ear. “You can run your mouthand throw your tantrums all you want, pretending you’re still some good little girl.”

His hips roll forward, grinding against me—and God—I moan. The way my body just fucking gives, like it’s not even mine anymore is something I’ll have to look into later.

“But I know what you are,” he murmurs, dark and low. “You’re a fucking slut.”

I freeze.

That word cracks something open. Something I should recoil from—but don’t. Because the way he says it sounds like a claim.

“A spoiled little whore.”

It slides under my skin like it was always meant to live there. What the fuck does it say about me that I want him to say it again?

I’m sick.

Feral.

Whatever the word is for a girl who never stood a chance the second someone saw the monster in her and decided to worship it. That’s me.

His hand drops between us, pressing hard, right where I’m soaked. A sharp, humiliating gasp leaves me.

“You’re soaked for me, sweetheart and you know it.”

And fuck me. I do.

I bite my lip so hard it stings. My head’s spinning and no amount of pressing my thighs together is going to save me. It only makes it worse. I can feel the wet fabric clinging to my skin, and I know he’s right.

I roll my eyes. “Great. Add that to your list of delusions—right under the idea that I’d ever crawl for you.”