Page 189 of His To Erase

But somehow, he noticed. And now I’m fucking suffocating under the weight of it. I’m not afraid of him, I’m afraid of how badly I want him to keep going. To see the whole bloody mess and not flinch. To look at me like I’m still worth claiming.

“I know you pretend not to care. That the sarcasm is armor, and the flirting’s a distraction. But underneath it, you’re justtrying to figure out who the hell you were before someone turned you into a ghost with a fake name and a past you can’t look at straight.”

His hand grazes mine on the desk, barely touching me but it might as well be a spark to a fuse.

“And I know,” he murmurs, “you’d rather bite your own tongue than admit you’re scared. Because you think if you say it out loud… it makes it real.”

I scoff, clenching my jaw. “Wow. You want a medal or something? Or just a participation trophy for psychoanalyzing the fucked-up girl you keep dragging back into your bed?”

His jaw ticks. That muscle in his cheek flexes like it’s holding back something feral.

“Careful,” he warns, with a razor-edge to his voice. “You’re pushing.”

“Good,” I snap. “Because you’re not some savior, Steven. You don’t get to play protector just because you finally noticed I flinch. You don’t get to look at me like I’m broken glass you’re trying not to step on—when you’re the one leaving fucking footprints.”

The silence is charged. I know I shouldn't be pushing him, but I can’t help it.

“What the fuck do you want, Ani?” he growls. “For me to lie? Pretend I don’t see it? You want someone who’ll keep their distance and let you spiral in peace?”

I open my mouth—then shut it again, keeping my jaw locked tight. Because fuck him for being right. And fuck me for not knowing the answer.

“I want one thing that’s real,” I say, quieter now. “Just one. I want to know if I’m fucked up because someone made me that way… or if I’m just broken.”

His eyes flash with something dark and dangerous.

“You’re not broken.”

“No?” I laugh, but it comes out bitter and raw. “Then why the hell do I keep choosing men who treat me like property? Like I’m supposed to bleed gratitude just for being seen?”

I can see that it hit him like a slap in the face. He leans forward slowly, but no less lethal.

“I don’t treat you like property,” he growls, each word edged in steel.

“No,” I whisper. “You fuck me like you own me. Then vanish like you don’t.”

My pulse is a riot. His eyes flare—and there it is, the shift. The moment he stops pretending to be calm.

“You want to play that game?” he growls, voice dark and smoky as he grabs my jaw, forcing my face up to his. “You want to act like this doesn’t mean anything? Like I don’t already own every inch of you?”

I blink up at him, mouth curling into something jagged. “I think you like the chase. I think you like pretending I’m the one running.”

His grip tightens—just enough to make me gasp. “You think I won’t remind you?” he rasps. “That I won’t drag you back and fuck the attitude out of you until you forget your own fucking name?”

I don’t answer—not out loud. But my body does. My pulse surges, and my thighs clench like they know what’s coming.

“I fucking warned you,” he mutters, spinning me around and shoving me hard into the nearest wall. And I can feel him pressed into my back. “You push, I push back harder.”

“Fucking do it then, Steven.”

His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back until his mouth is flush with my ear.

“You wanna bait the monster?” he growls. “Then don’t cry when he breaks you.”

My breath shatters as his palm presses flat between my shoulder blades, pinning me like prey. My shirt’s halfway up, and the cold bite of the wall is shocking against my front.

“You think I haven’t seen this act before?” he sneers. “The brat who talks shit so she doesn’t have to admit she’s desperate to be claimed?”

“I’m not—” I start, but his fingers slide between my thighs, dragging through the soaked heat there—and I choke on the lie.