Page 59 of His To Erase

I storm past him, fury clawing up my spine, but I don’t stop until I hit the kitchen.

Only then, when I’m alone, does it hit me. I rip open a cabinet like it owes me answers and yank out a box of mac and cheese like it personally betrayed me. I toss it on the counter a little too hard, but I don’t care.

I’m halfway through fumbling with the burner when I hear the quiet creak of the floorboards behind me. His presence fills the room like a thundercloud—quiet, heavy, and charged with things that haven’t been said.

I don’t turn around when I mutter, “I’m fine.”

“That’s not how you boil water.”

I whip around, glaring. “Jesus, what are you now, a chef?”

He nods at the stovetop. “You have to turn the burner on.”

I blink down at it, and it’s glowing. Just the wrong one. Fuck. I flip the right one and scowl. “Still doesn’t mean I need help.”

“I didn’t say you did,” he murmurs, stepping closer. “Just saying… you might burn the place down.”

I huff a laugh. “Yeah, well. Wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened this week.”

He stops a few feet away, arms crossed, watching me like I’m a puzzle he’s halfway solved but doesn’t quite believe yet.

“What?” I snap, grabbing the box and shaking it like that’ll intimidate him.

“You can’t keep pretending nothing’s wrong.”

“Says the man who disappears all day and then acts like I’m the problem.”

“I didn’t say you’re the problem.”

“You didn’t have to,” I mutter, dumping noodles into the pot even though the water isn’t boiling yet.

A beat passes, and I barely hear him. “I don’t want you to leave.”

That stops me cold. My hand hovers over the box but I don’t look at him, because if I do, I’ll lose whatever hold I have left.

“Why?” I whisper. “Because you like fucking me?”

Silence.

“Because I don’t like not knowing who’s got their eyes on you when I’m not around.”

I turn slowly, realizing just how close he is, and I hate how much I need him to be. My skin burns for contact, and my body leans toward his like it knows what I won’t let myself say. But it’s so much easier to turn that ache into anger.

If I let him in—if I admit I want him like this, I’ll never survive what comes after.

“You don’t get to act like this means something,” I snap, stepping back like distance will help. “Not when you keep everything locked up like I’m the enemy.”

His eyes flick down my body, slow and unapologetic. “Funny. You didn’t seem to care what it meant when you were begging me to ruin you.”

My breath catches, and rage flickers behind my ribs. “You think that gives you the right to own me?”

He steps forward. “No. Crawling to me did that.”

His jaw flexes as his chest rises and we move at the same time. He reaches me just as I drop the box, hands tangling in my shirt, and our mouths crashing against each other.

There’s nothing gentle about it. This kiss is a fucking detonation. It’s weeks of circling each other like lit matches, waiting for something to burn. His hands are gripping my hair, and mine are clawing down his back like I’m trying to rip through skin just to feel something real.

He lifts me and slams me against the fridge, as my legs go around him. This time, when I gasp, it’s not from fury—it’s from the way he consumes me.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this. He tastes like danger and ruin and I’ve never wanted anything more. Whatever this is—it’s not safe, it’s not smart, and it’s already too late to turn around.

God help me.

His hand slides under my shirt, skimming my ribs, and his voice drops—wrecked against my mouth. “You don’t get to crawl to me like you did and pretend you’re not mine.”

“I never said I wasn’t,” I pant. “I just never said I was, either.”

His eyes are full of heat, and he growls. “Say it.”

I shake my head, a crooked grin breaking across my lips. “Make me.”

And he does.

This time—when he takes me, there’s nothing holding either of us back. He grabs my jaw and kisses me like he wants to take the fight out of my mouth, he spins me around so fast I gasp. His hand finds the back of my neck, shoving me down until my elbows hit the cold stone countertop.

“Stay.”

His body presses flush against my back and I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him right now. I could die and my life would be complete.

“Don’t move unless you want me to punish you for it.”

I let out a breathless, taunting laugh, just to test him. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

The sound he makes isn’t human—it’s feral. His hand fists in my hair, yanking my head back until I’m arching for him like something to be claimed, and I’m soaked, throbbing, and so fucking ready.

“You think this is funny?”

His voice is gravel and heat and every dark promise I should run from, but instead I want nothing more than for him to lose control.

“I could bend you over every surface in this goddamn cabin and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’ll ruin you until you forget what it felt like to not be mine.”

Fuck—do I want that.

My breath snags as he yanks my sweats down to my knees in one brutal motion. Cold air suddenly hits my soaked skin, but I don’t pull away. My hands brace the counter, and my knees almost buckle. I instinctively try to close my legs, but it’s too late.

He hooks his fingers in the waistband of my panties—then rips. The sound tears through the air like a warning, and then they’re gone—shredded, dangling from his fist like a trophy.

Before I can catch my breath, he grabs my jaw and shoves the ruined scrap between my lips, forcing it deep into my mouth.

“Go ahead, Mi cielo,” he growls against my ear. “Taste yourself.”

Mi cielo? I hate how it lands, it’s too soft. That’s not what we do, we fuck like we’re trying to win. Does he know I speak spanish?

His grip tightens. “Tell me again how bad you don’t want this.”

I let out a muffled, strangled sound. My eyes are wide, and my thighs are shaking from how hard I’m trying not to melt into him.

God. I’m dripping, and my cunt clenches the second he touches me. I bite down harder and glare up at him, pretending my body isn’t already bowing to every brutal word he’s said.

The way he talks and the filth that comes out of his mouth is every girl's wet dream. It’s everything I’ve always wanted and never dared to ask for.

He smirks like he knows that too. If he keeps talking like that, I’m going to come without him even touching me.

He drops behind me like a man possessed, like the devil himself was starved and I’m the sin he was promised.

“Don’t you dare hide from me now.” His voice rumbles right against my core and I squirm. “Look at you. You’re dripping.”

His mouth is on me—in me—dragging his tongue through my slit like I’m the only thing he’s ever fucking needed. He groans into me, like I’m feeding something starving and savage inside him.

My whole body jolts when his tongue flicks up to circle my clit—and I scream behind the panties in my mouth. I bite down hard, squeezing my eyes shut as my knees buckle. This isn’t careful or sweet. This is a punishment.

I’m dripping down his chin while he groans like he fucking lives for this. And I can’t stop it. My ass is pushing toward him for more and I can’t stop the white-hot need pulsing low in my gut. I spit my panties out of my mouth. “Fuck—Steven—”

He doesn’t answer, he just devours me. His nose is buried in my pussy like it’s the only goddamn oxygen he needs. I writhe, moaning while one hand claws at the counter and the other slams against the wall for balance.

“God—please—”

He pulls back just long enough to growl, “You want to come on my tongue, or do I need to make you wait?”

I whimper. “Please—don’t stop—”

“That’s not an answer.”

He sucks my clit hard, then slaps my ass. The crack of it echoes off the cabinets and I jolt forward with a cry.

“Use your words,” he growls. “Or I’ll leave you dripping and empty all fucking night.”

My voice breaks free, ragged and wrecked. “Yes,” I pant. “I want to come—Please, just don’t stop.”

He groans into my cunt then shoves two thick fingers inside me with no warning. Just a filthy, wet thrust that has me moaning as my body jerks against the counter.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he snarls. “So wet, I could drown in you.”

Then he’s curling his fingers just right—and my world fractures. I come screaming, and every nerve is thrashing. He doesn’t stop. Just keeps eating and finger fucking me with ruthless precision. He’s probably not going to stop until I’m spent and silent, shattered at his feet.

For the first time in my life, I want to be owned.

When I’m shaking—wrecked and sobbing into the marble—he stands, clamping one hand on my hip. The other snakes around my throat and yanks me up until my spine bows against his chest.

I feel him pulsing against my soaked pussy—and fuck me, I want him so bad. All of it. Every inch, every threat, every punishment he’s been holding back.

“You wanted wild,” he rasps against my ear. “You’re about to fucking get it.”

He kicks my feet wider, grabbing both my wrists and yanks them behind my back—pinning them in one rough hand. My chest slams back to the counter, cheek flattened to the cold marble, while my legs are spread open and shaking.

His free hand grips my ass, hard enough to bruise. Holding me like he’s staking a fucking claim.

“Look at this fuckable little ass,” he growls. “You were made for this. Made to take my cock with your face down and your body dripping like it’s starving for me.”

He leans in closer and I can feel his breath hot against my neck, the threat of his voice curling around every frayed nerve ending I’ve got. I can barely think straight.

“You think I was just gonna fuck your pussy and let the rest of you walk away?” he mutters darkly. “No dear, I’m taking all of you.”

His palm spreads me open. Exposing everything. Making me feel so nervous, I start to sweat.

“I’m going to fuck this ass,” he breathes. “Make you take every inch until you’re sobbing—until you’re begging to come with my cock so deep you forget your fucking name.”