Page 72 of His To Erase

Ani

I’m looking down at my phone, double-checking that I actually texted Sarah to apologize for bailing early. Nothing about tonight feels real, and if this driver takes one wrong turn, I’m tucking and rolling straight onto the pavement.

“Someone’s dramatic tonight.”

My blood freezes over and my head whips to the driver’s seat. Steven’s hands are relaxed on the wheel, with a smirk ghosting his mouth. His eyes are full of trouble in the rearview.

“You stole a car,” I breathe, like that’s the most offensive part.

“I borrowed it,” he says smoothly. “From someone who won’t be needing it for a while.”

“You’re stalking me.”

He snorts. “You ordered the ride. I’m just punctual.”

I glare at him through the mirror, but the car's already moving, and I know better than to open the door mid-drive. Though I’m highly considering it.

“I hate you,” I mutter.

“Lie better.”

The silence that follows isn’t peaceful. The car slows to a stop and I’m already reaching for the handle when he adds, “You done being pissed? Or do I need to drag you upstairs and work it out of you?”

I slam the door without answering, knowing what it’s going to cost me.

I don’t care. He follows close, but I don’t wait.

I storm up the steps, two at a time, keys shaking in my hand—but whether it’s rage or adrenaline, I don’t know.

By the time I shove the door open, I’m breathing hard, and I’m wet.

I head straight for the kitchen just to give myself something to do.

The lock clicks behind me. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

I don’t turn around.

“Maybe because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

I hear him move behind me. “Where were you?”

“You don’t get to ask me that,” I snap, turning to face him. “And what, now you’re going to show up and play watch dog.”

I brush past him, heading straight for the sink, pretending I’m not seconds from combusting. The faucet creaks when I turn it on, I just need something to do with my hands before I use them for violence. Or worse—for begging.

I don’t look at him when I speak.

“Are you always this invasive, or am I just your favorite little project?”

He doesn’t say anything, but I feel him come up behind me. He’s close enough that my spine straightens and my mouth goes dry.

“I don’t owe you softness. I owe you nothing. But you’re still mine.”

And just like that, something sharp and traitorous cracks open in my chest. I hate how he crawls under my skin and settles there like he belongs. I almost forget why I was mad. Almost.

“I told you to stay away from him.”

The switch flips. I spin to face him, “You don’t get to tell me shit.”

His jaw clenches. “You ran, Ani. Again.”

And that’s the one that hits too deep. He’s not wrong there.

He pushes off the counter slowly, every inch of his movement is deliberate. “What did he say?”

I glare. “Why? So you can twist it into another half-truth?”

“I’m not the one keeping secrets.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

He steps closer as my back hits the edge of the sink and I brace both hands behind me like it’ll hold me together. He smells like cold air and fury and something darker that makes my pussy tremble.

“Did he touch you?” Steven’s voice drops.

“Jesus Christ, are you serious?”

His eyes are all heat and violence with that unreadable stillness he wears like a second skin.

“Did. He. Fucking. Touch. You.”

My whole body flashes hot, then cold. My fists ball, while my pussy throbs for his attention. I shove at his chest—hard. “What difference does it make?”

It’s a stupid question because we both know the answer.

His hand snaps up, catching my wrist before I can land another hit. He just holds me there like he’s reminding me I’m not going anywhere unless he lets me. And fuck me, it should make me afraid. But all it does is make my thighs press together.

I can feel it. That slow, shameful throb building between my legs like I’m wired wrong. Or I’m just hardwired for him.

His voice is a threat all by itself. “Because if he did, he dies slower.”

I laugh, but I get the feeling he’s not joking. “Frank’s not the only one playing games, I see.”

His grip tightens enough to remind me he’s still in control, even when I’m pretending I’m not about to melt in his palm.

“What did you hear?”

I should lie. Instead, I meet his eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you already know? Seems like you’ve got all the answers.”

A slow breath leaves his chest like he’s trying not to lose his temper. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His words wrap around my spine and squeeze. I hate that I lean closer without meaning to. I want more—more truth, more lies, more of him.

“Then say something, Steven. Anything. Just tell me something real.”

He stares at me like I’m a problem he can’t solve and he’s one second from forcing the answer or burning the whole thing to the ground.

“I don’t want to lie to you.”

The words hit soft and I still feel them. Right in the part of me that keeps stupidly hoping he’s not the villain I already know he is. I swallow hard, but it catches in my throat like a splinter.

“But you don’t want to tell me the truth either.”

Silence. Figures.

I rip my wrist free and spin, grabbing the first thing I can find—my mail. I whip it across the kitchen and it smacks the fridge before sliding pathetically to the floor.

That’s when he moves. One second I’m alone, and the next his arm is banded around my waist—hard—dragging me back into his chest like I never had a choice.

His other hand buries in my hair, pulling just enough to arch my spine, and my whole body betrays me—again.

I’m wet, and strung so tight I could snap.

I twist in his grip, teeth bared. “Let me go—”

“You want to hate me?” he growls against my neck. “Good. Hate me.”

Then his mouth is on my skin—biting me, and I melt for him. My body says yes even when my pride is screaming no. I’m so fucking pissed off and horny right now, I don’t know what I want more. A fight or him.

“You want the truth?” His voice drops, and it’s meant to wreck me.

“I think about fucking you every time I close my eyes. I could spend the rest of my life inside you and it still wouldn’t be enough.

I think about dragging you to your knees and making you forget why you ever said his name out loud. ”

He steps closer, crowding out my breath. “Not just until you forget him—until the only thing you know is me. My hands. My voice. My fucking name in your mouth.”

I should move or something. But all I can do is stand there and burn. My legs buckle the second his hand starts to slide down, and his fingers slip beneath the waistband of my jeans like he’s done it a thousand times in his head.

God help me—he’s not the kind of man you survive. He’s the kind you choose to drown in. And I’ll happily do it.

“You’re just too busy playing detective to realize you’ve already chosen me.”

“I haven’t—”

“You’re home.”

He spins me around and lifts me onto the counter as his mouth crashes into mine—and it’s devastating. I taste metal and anger and everything I shouldn’t want but do.

He tears my shirt off over my head.

“Still think you can lie to me?” he hisses, fingers trailing down my spine like a fucking promise of what’s to come. I dig my nails into his chest—hard enough to leave marks. “Still think you’re the one in control?”

His eyes flash with heat, then he drops to his knees. There’s nothing reverent about it—no softness, no pause. Just hunger. That cold, ruthless obsession burning in his gaze as his hands yank my jeans down in one brutal motion.

He drags my panties down next, cursing under his breath like they dared to get between him and what’s his. And before I can even take a breath—He’s on me.

His mouth locks to my cunt licking through my slit until my knees start to buckle. Then he finds my clit. His tongue does sharp, filthy flicks that make my whole body seize.

“Steven—fuck—” I gasp, and my head falls back, while my fingers scramble to grab the edge of the counter behind me.

He moans into my pussy and I feel his arms hook around my thighs, dragging me closer until I can’t do anything but take it. His tongue slides deeper, licking into me like he wants to memorize the shape of my cunt from the inside out.

“Please—”

“I want to bury myself so deep in you, you forget every man who ever touched you before me.”

My breath stutters. “Then make me beg.”

His eyes flash. Challenge accepted. His mouth slams back onto me with brutal precision—sucking, flicking, and savoring every inch. He devours me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing left in the world.

My body starts to shake. Not just from how good it feels—but from the need.

The pressure. The brutal, aching pull of falling apart.

Every time his tongue drags through me, I feel myself break a little more.

Every flick over my clit short-circuits my brain until I can’t think—can’t breathe—can’t remember what the fuck I was even fighting for.

I’m panting.

I now have one leg thrown over his shoulder and his hand is locked around my thigh, holding me open, daring me to pull away.

I hold onto his hair for dear life, twitching my hips under his mouth as the orgasm builds faster. It feels violent and I know that if I let go, I won’t come back.

And just when I’m there—right fucking there—He stops.

“Don’t you fucking—”

“You want to come?” he rasps.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. So help me…

“Then get on your knees and show me who you belong to.”

“Steven—”

“Get. On. Your. Fucking. Knees.”

My knees hit the floor with a thud, and I look up just in time to see him towering over me, unbuckling his belt, eyes gone dark with something that isn’t lust anymore.

It’s possession.

I was going to obey. Swear to God. But damn if that wasn’t the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard. My thighs clench. And all I can think is—Maybe I should push him a little more. Just to see what else he does when he snaps.