Page 220 of His To Erase

His jaw flexes. “Not anymore.”

I suck in a breath. “And me?”

“You’re mine,” he says with no hesitation. “And I’ll fucking kill him if he touches you again.”

My body lights up like a live wire. I should tell him to calm down, but the way he says it does something to me I can’t explain.

Lord, first it’s a fucking praise kink—now it’s a possession problem? What’s next?

Maybe I’m just tired of being someone’s pawn, and used like I’m some pretty little piece of ass waiting to get sacrificed. Maybe what I really want… is to be someone’s fucking obsession.

I glance over at Steven as I set the bowl down—and just like that, I’m not hungry anymore. At least not for food.

“That doesn’t scare me.”

His eyes lift to mine—calm in that dangerous, calculated way that makes my lungs forget what they’re supposed to be doing.

“It should.” He pauses, waiting. And then—“You know I’ll burn everything down before I let him have you.”

I can’t help but giggle at his possessiveness, even though something tells me he’s not joking.

His jaw ticks. Just once. And that’s the only warning I get. The chair scrapes back, hard—then he’s in front of me. Two strides and I’m yanked to my feet, his mouth crashing to mine like a punishment.

I moan into him, fisting his hoodie as he grabs the back of my thighs and lifts me effortlessly.

He carries me down the hall, his mouth dragging over my jaw and throat—until his teeth sink in hard enough to steal my breath. By the time the bathroom light flickers on, I’m already soaked.

“I heard it,” he growls against my throat. “That wrecked little voice telling me you’re mine while you were soaking my cock.”

I can barely breathe. I want him—fuck, I want him to give me what I need—but he’s taking his sweet-ass time, dragging it out like he knows I’ll break for it.

“I meant it,” I whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at me—eyes black with possession.

“Good,” he rasps.

And maybe that’s the most dangerous thing I’ve admitted all week, because Steven isn’t gentle. He’s not soft. He’s not safe. But he’s real.

He peels my pants down slowly, and when he sees I’m not wearing anything underneath, he stills. His mouth twitches and those dark eyes drag over every inch of me like he’s memorizing the mess I’ve already made.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, voice thick. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to have this.” He steps back, just enough to watch me squirm. “You were made for this. For me.”

“Then shut up and prove it already,” I tease.

That must have triggered something, because his hand closes around my throat enough to make my pulse spike and my breath catch.

I freeze—everything inside me clenches. My thighs. My chest. My jaw.Fuck.I’ve never wanted anything so badly in my life, and I just had him a few hours ago. It’s starting to feel less like lust and more like madness. It can’t be normal to want someone this much.

His thumb slides along my jaw, way too gentle for how hard he’s still holding my neck—and the contrast sends a rush straight through me.

God, he’s hot.

That hoodie’s hanging open like he forgot to finish putting himself together—tattoos on full display, chest bare—and all I want to do is lick him. I’m still wrecked from earlier, and mybody’s already begging for more like it doesn’t remember how to be satisfied. I don’t even know what to do with that. I just know I want him. Again. Harder.

“You want proof? You’ll be feeling it every time you try to walk.”

My whole body reacts like he just reached inside and flipped a switch I can’t turn off. God help me, I want to feel it. I want the ache.