Page 34 of Crush
Her back hits the side of the car from the shove, her eyelids flaring at the movement. Yet her lips were firm. “I’m willing to do almost anything to abide by your rules. You short-circuited me, okay? The day you took away the one thing I wanted—the fellowship—you split me in two, and I’m barely stitched back together. How is that not enough for you?”
I step forward, closing the space I created between us. “You think I like you weak?”
Ember thinks she hides her emotional tells. What she doesn’t understand is, I’m always watching her. Cataloging, memorizing, and holding close every twitch and blink she’s made ever since she stepped foot on Winthorpe grounds. I can read her better than anyone, and the best part is, she has no idea.
That’s why, when one corner of her lips lifts in a smirk for the barest of seconds, I zero in on it, pressing my brows together at the sight.
I smile. “Do you think I’ll get bored with you now that you’ve settled on the damsel act?”
Ember jolts. “What makes you think I’m pretending? You screwed me over, Thorne.”
While my name on her lips does all sorts of sinful pirouettes around my cock, I reply, “A-ha. Zeke finally makes sense to me now.”
Ember’s forehead wrinkles. She looks cute and sexy as hell. “Zeke? What does he have to do with this?”
Chuckling, I prowl closer. Ember tries her best not to flinch. “You’re trying to piss me off as much as I did you. The only problem is, I’ll never be jealous of that pissant. Fight me, Ember.”
She catalogs every one of my steps until I brush up against her chest. As soon as we touch, She deliberately goes limp against the car.
“I have no willpower left. Consider me your rag doll to do with as you will.”
“Except there’s nothing raggedy about you,” I murmur close to her lips. Her breath is sweet with chocolate and mint. My nostrils twitch, a male scenting his mate. Experimenting, I drag a finger up her exposed inner thigh. She wants to play dolls, believing I’ll lose interest? Hah. I’ll force her to come alive again.
Ember sucks in a breath, somehow maintaining her limp position against the BMW and me.
“Fight me,” I repeat, my finger getting closer. “Go ahead, push me away.”
She meets my gaze straight on, unflinching.
Goddammit, how I wish there was a light on her so I could go by the flush in her cheeks or the tremble of her lips. All I have in this outdated garage is her eyes to go on, and they’re flat. Emotionless.
“Fight me off.” My tone takes on a growl. “Stop pretending.”
Her arms stay slack against her sides. I swoop against her pussy through her shorts, almost as punishment, pressing into her folds through the fabric. Hard.
“If you want me,” she says softly, “this is how you’ll get me. Numb, limp, and sucked dry, exactly how you and your father planned.”
A sour churn begins in my gut. My fingers clench against her pussy. Our teeth nearly clash. “I’ll turn you into anything I like, little pretty. Feral. Moaning for me. Begging. Bending.”
“Never.” Her vow is hot against my mouth. “You can have my body, but you’ll never claim my heart or my mind.”
I press into her, forcing Ember to bend backward, her body following the metal curves of the BMW. My erection strains between us.
This is the point when I should push off and stalk away, leaving her shivering and unsure. It’s what’s called for—my father making clear how I’m to treat Ember Weatherby from now on.
And I can’t fucking walk away.
I make sure the moonlight hits my profile just so as I smile cruelly and say, “Then I suppose I’ll stick with your pussy for now.”
She gasps, exactly as I want her to, and my hand hooks through the hem of her leggings and dives for her panties.
“I thought you were meant to be sucked dry. By me.” In my head, I say this with confidence, but my voice comes out thicker than intended once I notice how wet she is.
“I am.”
Her voice mirrors mine.
I laugh, low and lazy in my throat, despite the heated blood rushing through my body.