Page 43 of His To Erase

He leans in, dragging his tongue up the line of my cheek. “Then you’ll really hate what I do to you next.”

His teeth catch the skin beneath my ear and I moan—loud and feral—the sound echoes through the trees like it belongs to someone else. My nervous system is too shot to care right now.

One hand grips my throat, and the other slips under my hoodie, grabbing my waist, and yanking me against him. His thigh pushes between mine, and I grind down without even thinking. His voice rumbles against my skin, deadly and smug.

“You’re going to crawl for it.”

“Over your dead body,” I whisper, already knowing it’s a lie. I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit.

“Then you’re going to beg.”

His words drip down my spine like sin, curling into the heat already pooling low in my stomach. My hips grind down again shamelessly before I can stop myself—searching for friction. Anything to anchor me in the chaos he created.

He pulls back just enough for the cold night air to hit the space where his thigh just was, and the absence punches through me like a punishment. I whimper as the heat of him vanishes and my skin misses it—aches for it—before my mind can even catch up.

Apparently the slight shift in my hips is all the permission he needed to tighten his grip around my throat.

“God, look at you,” his voice sounds like gravel. “You can’t even stop yourself.”

My cheeks burn. But another slick wave of heat shoots between my legs. I bare my teeth. “Fuck you.”

His lips brush mine, but he doesn’t kiss me. And somehow, that ruins me more.

“You keep saying that like it’s not already happening,” he breathes.

Then he lets go, and I suck in a shaky breath like it might save me from drowning in him.

“You want it here?” he whispers. “Out in the fucking woods like a filthy little slut?”

My knees go soft, buckling under the weight of everything I’m feeling—shame, want, and the ugly ache of needing someone I’m supposed to hate. But I lock them down, forcing them to stay put.

“I’d rather choke on pine needles.”

His smirk could kill a girl. “You already sound like you’re choking.”

He’s barely touching me and I’m soaked. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a wet spot on his leg. My breath is wrecked. And my mind is static—white noise, heat, and him.

“Christ,” he mutters. “I’ll bet you’re soaked through your panties, and I haven’t even put my fingers inside you.”

I flinch like he just slapped me, but don’t move. I desperately want him to find out.

“You keep talking like you hate me,” he adds. How his voice is calm, cruel, and devastatingly soft at the same time, I'll never know. “But your pussy’s begging louder than your mouth ever could.”

I snap my head up, feeling the fire in my chest and shame in my throat, but he’s already walking back toward the car, tossing over his shoulder— “Get in the car, Ani.”

He says it like he doesn’t care if I do or not—which makes my blood boil. So I don’t move. I stay planted right where he left me, arms crossed, and my thighs trembling.

He doesn’t say a word, he just slams the car door and in three heartbeats, he’s in front of me again—closer this time.

“You want to play games?” he says, eyes darkening. “Fine.”

His hand shoots out, grabbing my hoodie again—and this time, he doesn’t stop short. He shoves me back—hard—into the side of the car with a thud that knocks the breath out of me. His body follows, pressing into mine, so I have nowhere to go.

And fuck—he’s hard.

That thick length grinds right against my core, and it’s enough to make my thighs clench and my brain stutter. Oh God, I want him so bad.

“You want to be a brat?” he murmurs, sounding like he’s seconds away from losing control. “Then don’t pretend you don’t want me to wreck you on this fucking hood.”

“I didn’t ask for anything,” I spit but my voice wobbles. Even I can hear how shaky it is. He drops his hand to my waist, and his fingers dig into my hips as he grinds against me and I moan.

I fucking moan.

He leans in, lips grazing my jaw. “No. You didn’t.”

His grip tightens, and he presses his cock harder against my cunt, and my body leans into him. “But your body’s been begging since the second I picked you up.”

I suck in a breath, and I can’t move. I honestly don’t want to, even if I could. He stays there for one long, pulsing beat. I’m unraveling by the second.

“Last chance,” he whispers. “Get in the car.”

He pulls back, and starts walking back to the car. “Or I bend you over it.”

Every nerve in my body is screaming. I’m wet, wild, and desperately wanting to be wrecked and he knows it.

So I do the only thing that makes sense in the chaos flooding my chest. I move, but not toward the car. I spin on my heel and storm straight into the woods. All I can hear are the branches snapping beneath my boots as cold air claws at my skin.

I don’t know where I’m going. I just know I can’t breathe next to him. I can’t think with his cock pressed against me and his voice in my ear, telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.

“Ani.”

I hear him yell, but I don’t care. I keep walking.

“Don’t you dare.”

I ignore him—because if I stop now, I’ll do something worse than run. I’ll let him wreck me right here in the dark. And I won’t even pretend to hate it.

So I go deeper into the trees while my heart pounds like a warning siren, each beat echoing in places I didn’t give it permission to reach. My legs are shaking. My chest is tight and my skin still burns from the way he touched me.

His voice slices through the dark like a fucking blade. I spin, but I can’t see him. Branches creak, and something shifts to my left. Where the hell is he? Where did he go?

“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 mouth and 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.”

He drags his mouth along the curve of my jaw. “You fight so pretty.” He keeps his voice low. “You don’t even know your cunt’s begging to get used.”

I gasp, a sharp, involuntary sound, and his grip on my wrists tightens just enough to make me ache even more than I already am. I try to relieve some of the tension by arching my back, but it just presses me into him more.

“You’re not going to run again,” he growls. “You’re going to stand there, just like this, and remember exactly how fucking wet you got for me.”

His free hand skims down my side, grazing my breasts. “But I’m not going to let you come,” he adds. “Not until I say.”

A whimper escapes my throat—humiliation, heat, and desperation. You name it, and I’m currently experiencing it. He’s right, I’m a needy slut right now. All I can think about is getting off. I can’t even think straight.

Then, just when I think I’m about to come undone—he lets go. Leaving me breathless and soaked with nothing but bark at my back and fire between my legs.

“Now, get in the car.”

My panties are fucking ruined and I’m two seconds away from falling to my knees and begging.

His eyes narrow. “Now.”

I stare at him. At his mouth. At the cock still hard beneath his jeans.

“God,” I mutter, trying to keep my voice from cracking, “you’re obsessed with hearing yourself talk.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

If I move first, he wins. If he moves, I don’t trust myself not to crawl to him and make a bigger mess than I already am. So I do the only thing that gives me back any ounce of control—I shove past him.

My shoulder clips his—intentionally. Every step I take is tight and rigid, while I try to outpace the ache in my chest and the humiliation curdling in my gut.

I yank open the car door, throwing myself into the passenger seat, and slam it shut like I’m the one with the power here.

The engine growls to life, and gravel spits behind us like we’re being chased. I cross my arms tight across my chest, fingers digging into skin that still feels too hot, but I stay quiet.

I stare out the window like it’s a portal to another life. One where I still had dignity and my body didn’t betray me every time he looked in my general direction.

At least I forgot about the whole someone broke into my apartment thing for a minute. So, there’s that.