Page 8 of Liar

“Thorne,” I breathe out, stunned until I remember that I hate him. I jerk my arm out of his hold.

He grips me harder, pinning both my arms against the wall.

“Bastard,” I spit, aiming for his groin with my knee.

Thorne easily blocks it. Smirking.

I struggle. Twist. Snarl.

He raises a hand to hook his thumb and forefinger under my jaw, pinning me by the neck. The move gives me the freedom to swing an arm, and in a spurt of anger, I mirror his actions, grabbing his throat, too.

Thorne grunts but stills in under my hand. “Seems we’re at an impasse.”

“What are you doing?” I grit out, my voice tight from the pressure on my trachea.

His eyes shine under the recessed lighting. “I’ll ask the same of you. Are you going to squeeze tighter?”

My vision forms into a slit. I wish my glare shot fire. But I do exactly as he says, flattening my palm against his Adam’s apple. My frustration over the past month singes down my arm, igniting my fingers as they dig through his stubble and cut into the softer parts of his neck. Thorne’s passion, then his neglect. My parents’ need for me, then their complete release. Aiko’s friendship, then disregard.

Savannah’s disappearance and return.

I am not nothing. But am I the problem?

Tears prick in the corners of my eyes, hot and burning.

Thorne’s voice vibrates under my hand, a humming of approval. Growling, I hold on as tight as I can, picturing the bend of cartilage before I break his neck.

But he squeezes, too.

Thorne’s fingers are under my ear. His thumb hooks under the corner of my jaw, rubbing against the bone. I can feel my face growing red, swelling under the deft squeeze-and-release he’s deploying.

And the heat doesn’t end at my neck.

It spreads past his fingers, tickling beneath my nipples and spiraling across my stomach. Nestling between my folds and pattering against the sensitive flesh there like the barest touch of butterfly wings.

My thighs clench, my brain communicating the need to fight against an attack, not submit to my arousal.

But this is what I’ve become. I am the dark.

“More,” he murmurs.

Ceding to the call, I dig my fingers further into his tendons, the fine muscles straining. A coppery scent hits the air as my nails break through his skin.

Thorne molds his body against mine, our lips almost as close as our hands on each other’s necks.

“You can’t intimidate me, little pretty.”

“Go back to your girlfriend.”

A crease forms between his brows. Thorne searches my eyes. Then his lips flatten with something close to calm acceptance. He bows his head, impervious to my palm pressing into his throat, and nuzzles the side of my neck he isn’t squeezing the life out of and inhales.

I release my grip on his throat to push at his chest, my legs banging against his thighs like I’m doing the jig, but it’s like fighting against a gnarled tree, stubborn and digging in its roots.

“I will once I get you out of my system.” Thorne straightens on an exhale. He sneers before he frowns. “It’s not working.”

“You’re—hurting—me.” I speak between clenched teeth. Losing precious air is worth hissing at him. “I—preferred it when you ignored me.”

“Ignored you?” Thorne angles his head, then drops his hand from my neck. He steps back. “I was saving you. From the fuckup that is my life.”