Page 149 of His To Erase

I straighten slowly, letting the silence between us coil tighter, until it feels like I’m breathing her in. She glares up at me like she’d rather claw my eyes out than admit what her body’s screaming for. But I see the way her pulse ticks at her throat, and the way her breath catches. She’s one push away from snapping.She wants me to be the one to do it.

Good. I want the fight. I want the bite. I want her so fucking ruined, so raw and wrecked, she forgets who she thought she belonged to. Forgets his name. Forgets her own. Forgets everything except the way I make her break.

She shoves the plate off her lap, setting it on the table so hard, it sounds like her composure shattering. Then she stands—chest rising, and her feet planted like she thinks she’s still got something to defend.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” she snaps, fire flashing behind her eyes.

I smile. “I know enough.”

“You don’t know shit,” she bites, voice rising. “You don’t know what he makes me feel?—”

She cuts herself off.

Too late. I see the crack in her armor. The shake in her voice. The flicker of fear when she realizes the leash around her throat might not belong to who she thinks it does.

She thinks she’s hiding it—covering the fracture with rage and fake indifference like I haven’t made a living out of spotting the weak point before I strike.

I tilt my head, the answer already written across her face and she gives me another one without even realizing it. That pause. That silence. That twitch in her fingers when she flinches away from the truth.

Frank has his hooks in her. I knew that. But now I know where, and now I know how to cut deeper.

She backpedals. Trying to pull the mask back on while I peel it off with nothing but proximity. I move in, close enough to cage her, and her spine meets the wall.

I brace one hand beside her head and lean in until I can feel the lie on her tongue.

“You want to finish that sentence, Dear?”

I keep my voice low, designed to get under her skin. And it works—because her breathing goes ragged, and her chest continues to rise too fast. She’s unraveling and I’m cataloging every twitch, every shift, every goddamn stutter of her pulse.

If I touched her right now, I know exactly what I’d find—she’d be so fucking wet for me.

He might have her, but I’m the one who can make her forget.

I don’t need to chase her. I just need to wait for the moment she begs to be caught and by the looks of it, she’s not far off.

Her tongue flicks across her bottom lip, and my cock throbs so hard it’s fucking painful. I can feel my balls tightening at the thought of being buried in her.

“You gonna tell me?” I say, dragging my gaze down her face, noting the frantic flutter of her pulse. “Or do you want me to make you talk?”

She glares up at me—and fuck, she’s beautiful like this.

“You think I’m scared of you?” she spits.

“No.” I step in closer, keeping my voice low and deadly. “You’re scared of yourself.”

She inhales sharply, but keeps her lips pressed tight. I can see violence in her eyes, before she tries covering it up.

“You’re scared you’ll like it,” I say in her ear, letting the words sink into her skin. “Scared you’d crawl for it.”

Her fingers twitch at her sides, and I just know her nails are curling like she’s fighting the urge to either touch me or claw me open, so I lean in—close enough to feel her breath, to see if she’ll flinch.

She doesn’t.

Stubborn little brat.

She’s stands there in nothing but leggings, my shirt, and that fucking chain she’s too scared—or too stupid—to take off. Still pretending she’s not already mine. That will make breaking her so much sweeter.

"You gonna hit me, sweetheart?" I murmur against her mouth, close enough she can taste the threat in the air between us.