Page 74 of His To Erase

Ani

He leans against the counter with his arms crossed, staying dead silent as I take a bite.

“I want everything from you, Ani.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He pushes off the counter and steps closer. “No more half-truths. No more deflections. I want it all—where you’ve been. What happened? What you remember. What you’re hiding.”

I laugh, but it’s brittle. “What makes you think I’m hiding anything?”

His voice darkens. “Because you flinch like someone who’s still bleeding. And because you look at me like you want to tell me everything—right before you run.”

God. How does he see me like that?

The fork I’m holding just slips through my fingers like everything else I can’t hold onto lately.

I stare at it on the counter, my heartbeat is thick in my ears, because he’s right, I want to deny it.

I want to roll my eyes and shoot back something sarcastic enough to cover the ache that just cracked open in my chest. But I can’t.

Not when the truth is sitting in front of me, shirtless, intense, and so fucking undeniable it makes my bones ache.

Every time someone gets too close, or something starts to feel real, I feel myself slipping. I run. And here he is, seeing every bruised inch of me like I’ve already been exposed.

I finally look up. “I already told you, I don’t remember everything, but I’m trying,” I snap.

“I’ve pretty much told you most of what I know.

I know something bad happened, I know there were men involved, and I know I fought.

I also know there’s blood in my past that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. ”

He doesn’t move.

“Frank?”

I hesitate. Then shrug my shoulders. “I don’t think so, but maybe. There are pieces that I can’t remember. Sounds. And someone saying I belonged to them.”

My breath hitches on the last word.

And Steven… freezes. His whole body goes still.

“I don’t remember who, besides my ex,” I add, fast. The words tumble out like it might fix it. “But he said something when I was there, and I just—”

“Where is he now?”

I blink. “Frank? I don’t know, I left when he was in the middle of a meeting.”

Steven nods once, but it’s a loaded nod. His expression is carved from stone, but I can see his control tightening around him like armor.

“Why do you care?” I whisper. “Is this about him?”

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 my body’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.

I reach for the zipper of his hoodie and my fingers tremble as I drag the zipper down, inch by inch, exposing the inked lines of his chest and the sharp cut of muscle beneath. He doesn’t move, he just stands there and lets me.

His hand leaves my throat, only to slide to the back of my neck.

His fingers thread through my hair, tugging just enough to make me tilt my chin up for him.

The other glides up my stomach. When he closes over my breast, I hiss—but I don't pull away. I lean into it, because that’s what he does to me.

“You know what I see when I look at you like this?” he murmurs.

“A girl with questionable taste?” I breathe.

His thumb rolls over my nipple, slow and punishing. “I see someone who likes being owned.” He dips his head, mouth brushing my ear. “And I haven’t even started.”

My knees threaten to give out, but I hold his gaze like I’m not falling apart.

“You ready?” he asks.

“Are you asking for permission now?” I shoot back.

His grip tightens, and he smirks. “Nah. Just giving you the chance to say thank you before I ruin you.”

His eyes drop to my nipples, and that smirk—the dark, dangerous one—spreads slow across his mouth.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says. “You love to act like you’re in charge… until my hands are on you.”

His hands slide up my sides, and I shiver—every inch of me strung tight with anticipation.

Then he’s gone. Just for a second.

The shower knob turns behind me, and the sound alone sends heat flooding back through my body.

Steam starts to rise, curling around us, and I don’t realize he’s already moving again until I turn—and see him stepping back, fingers hooked in the waistband of his sweats. He drags them down without a word, and fuck—he’s all muscle, all heat, all mine.

Oh. My. God.

Everything in me stops—thoughts, breath, pride. Gone.

He’s naked.

It shouldn’t hit this hard, but lord—he is gloriously, savagely naked. All hard lines and ink and muscle—sculpted by the Gods themselves. I’m pretty sure I’m drooling.

The second I step into the shower, the heat slams into me—coating my skin, making it impossible to tell if I’m sweating or already soaked for him again.

He leans in, skimming my collarbone with his mouth, and slowly trails lower.

That grin he gives me, feels like a promise as he sinks to his knees in front of me, gripping my hips like he owns them.

His tongue flicks out, licking a slow, devastating stripe from my navel to the underside of my breast, and I gasp—sharp and wrecked.

He doesn’t stop. Not until I’m breathless and shaking, thighs sticky with want. Again.

His hands roam everywhere—up the backs of my thighs, over the curve of my ass, fingers spreading as he grabs me like he’s staking a claim.

When he shifts forward and lifts one of my legs over his shoulder, I swear I black out for half a second. It’s too much. Too good. Too filthy. And I want every goddamn second of it.

His hands glide between my legs, fingers slipping through my folds like he’s memorized the exact way to make me fall apart.

The second his thumb brushes over my clit, I jolt—twitching against his mouth as the hot water rains down over us.

My hand flies to his shoulder—partly to keep from slipping, and partly because I just need to touch him.

Water pours over my back as the steam curls around us, and I swear I can feel myself dripping down my thigh. When he slides two fingers into me, curling them just right, and I gasp, grinding down on his hand.

“Still think you’re in control?” he growls.

I shake my head, too far gone to speak. As much as I love pushing his buttons, tonight’s not the night.

“I could keep you like this,” he rasps near my pussy. “On your knees. On your back. Doesn’t matter—as long as you remember who this fucking body belongs to.”

I nod, still grinding. Still chasing that edge and I don’t care what it costs me.

Then he pulls back.

“No—please—”