Page 148 of His To Erase

The second she opened the fridge and saw my prepped meals, her whole body slumped—like she didn’t know whether to be turned on or betrayed. Her mouth would say betrayal, but her thighs would argue otherwise.

I glance over, and there she is—curled up on my couch like it’s her throne. She’s barefoot, and probably braless, wrapped in my blanket like she fucking belongs there.

She lifts the fork to her mouth and hums when the bite hits—like it slipped out before she could swallow it. And fuck me, my cock doesn’t care if she’s moaning over chicken or choking on it. It hears the sound and gets possessive.

I dry my hands, and my fingers tighten in the towel until the bones crack. She’s not supposed to be here. Not like this. Not with Frank’s chain still dangling from her throat like she chose it.

I shove the sound down. The one that’s been clawing at the back of my throat since the second she walked into this house and made it feel like something I could lose.

I toss the towel on the counter and step forward. Her shoulders tense, and her thighs shift like they’re already bracing for something. She feels me. Even when I haven’t touched her.

And when I finally stop in front of her with my arms crossed and my shadow falling across her like it’s got a mind of its own—she lifts her head.

Those fucking eyes. That mouth. And that wild hair looks like she just got fucked all night, is making it really hard to stay on track. My shirt’s hitched up over her thighs, and the neckline is slipping just enough to flash the chain at her throat—Frank’s chain. Still sitting there like a goddamn claim he didn’t earn. Does she not realize how close she is to having it ripped off and replaced with something that screams mine.

The plate’s still in her lap, clutched like a weapon she doesn’t know how to use, and she looks up at me like I might ruin her. And all I can think is—you already are.

“You comfortable yet?” I murmur.

Her brow lifts like she's deciding whether to flip me off or pretend she’s unaffected. She shovels another bite into her mouth instead, all brat and no self-preservation, chewing slow, like it's a challenge.New fantasy unlocked. Watching her eat is like a wet dream.

I tilt my head slightly, because if she thinks I can't see the way her legs keep pressing tighter, or the way her chest hitches every time I get too close—she's wrong.

I’m a trained killer. I notice everything.

Including the way her breathing stutters—shallow, and quick. I watch a flush creep up her throat, and I’d put money on the way her nipples are probably drawn tight under my shirt. She’s trying to hide a reaction she doesn’t even know how to understand.

She has no idea what it’s doing to me or what she looks like, curled up here like she belongs to me. That mouth was made to say my name.

I lean down, forcing her to tip her chin up to keep my gaze. Good. I want her off-balance.

“Do you always make yourself at home in a man’s house,” I murmur, my voice low enough to scrape, “or just the ones who haven’t fucked you yet?”

She chokes. Beautifully.

The fork hits the plate with a sharp clang as her spine jolts, fire snapping in her eyes like she wants to claw my face off.

There she is.

Her temper flares as she straightens her spine in that silent challenge I’ve come to crave. That bratty mouth is already forming a comeback she doesn’t have the teeth to finish. I love feisty Ani, once she’s not mad, I’ll have to find more reasons to piss her off again.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, lifting her chin in that stubborn way that makes me want to ruin her composure all over again.

“Don’t pout, sweetheart,” I murmur, my gaze dragging across the flush blooming down her throat. “You started this.”

She opens her mouth to spit something back—fire and venom, probably—but I cut her off before she gets the first syllable out.

I curl my fingers around the edge of the couch, right next to her thigh—close enough to crowd, but not enough to touch. She has to feel the heat pouring off me, but she keeps pretendingshe doesn’t. I love that she keeps pretending I don’t make her nervous.

I lower my voice, “You think I didn't see you last night? Bent over my couch, legs spread, with your ass bare, mouthing off about Frank like you forgot where you were?”

She freezes.

And fuck if that doesn't make my cock throb behind my sweats. I lean in close enough to smell the fear and the want fighting for space on her skin.

“Keep running that pretty mouth, pretty girl and I’ll make sure you remember exactly who you're begging for next time you spread your legs.”

Her whole body goes still. Except for her thighs, they clench. Hard. And I feel it like a punch to the gut. She wants it. She might hate that she wants it, but she still wants it.