He leans back, and his expression shifts. Not angry, exactly. More like... closed off. Like I just asked him to open a door he keeps locked for a reason.
He’s not going to answer.
I try something else. “How many girls have you hooked up with?”
His brows furrow.
“Just curious.” I shrug, realizing he’s not going to answer again. “You’re so boring.”
His jaw ticks. “Says the one who won’t kiss me.”
Something snaps inside me. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still coursing through my veins from the party, from seeing Axel gagged and tied up, from everything.
Maybe I just want to see what happens when I push back.
I start crawling across the couch toward him. On all fours.
“What are you doing?” he asks, voice dropping lower. Darker.
I don’t answer. Just keep moving until I’m close enough to touch him.
I glide my fingers to his lips, press gently to shush him. His mouth is warm under my touch.
Then I trace his face—his jaw, the scar cutting through his eyebrow, the sharp line of his cheekbone. Looking at him this close is a different experience. He’s much more beautiful up close. Dangerous, yes. Terrifying, absolutely. But so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“You want a kiss?” I whisper.
He swallows. Doesn’t answer.
I crawl onto his lap, straddling him. His hands immediately go to my hips, fingers digging in through the denim.
I lift my shirt. Slowly. Just enough.
His eyes stay locked on mine. He doesn’t look down. Not once.
I lift it higher, exposing my bra. Then the bruise.
The bite mark he left on me days ago. It’s faded from deep purple to a sick yellow-green, but it’s still there. Still visible.
“Look,” I mutter, because he’s keeping his eyes on mine like it’s a test of willpower. “Look at what you did to me.”
Finally, he glances down.
His hands slide around my back, pulling me closer. I watch his eyes flick from the bruise to my stomach, then back up to my cleavage. He leans forward, and I feel his breath ghost across my skin.
Then he kisses the bruise.
Softly at first. Then he nips at it.
“You have a biting problem,” I whisper, looking down at him and panting. His lips are searing my skin.
“I want to eat you,” he says, voice rough. He nips again, harder this time. “All of you.”
I try to pull my shirt down, suddenly aware of how exposed I am. But it’s no use. His mouth is already moving—kissing, nipping, biting my skin like he’s starving.
I lean back, giving him access. Because it feels good. Ticklish and intense and overwhelming all at once.
He grabs the back of my neck, pulls me closer. Now he’s at my throat, kissing and sucking and biting. I close my eyes, tilt my head to give him more room.
