Page 129 of The Finish Line
He slams his fist into the door, the frame rattling.
“You promised me, Cecelia!”
“And you promised me!”
“Don’t you get it? I can steal your time, your attention, and even your body, but I can’t take what I came back for!”
“That’s right, and you’re not getting it. Not if you do this to me again! You walk out of this door—there’s no coming back.”
He lets out a guttural roar and flips me in his arms, ripping my shirt from me as I claw at his shoulders in an attempt to push him away.
“Stop it, King! What the fuck are you doing?”
Undeterred, his patience evaporated, he strips me, yanking down my bra and panties until I’m completely bare.
“You don’t get to do this and get any part of me.” I go to move around him, and he lifts me easily as I scratch and claw at him until he deposits me next to the couch. He jerks me by the arm to face the back of it before hooking both my arms behind me with one of his. Struggling beneath him, I buck as he keeps me hostage and completely at his mercy.
“You fucking monster!”
His voice is even when he speaks. “Only when I have to be, and for you, I will be.”
I jerk against him, my struggle futile as he keeps me immobilized by his strength. Anger like I’ve never known courses through me at his betrayal.
“You’re going to pull this bullshit, then you fucking face me, you coward!”
“Why bother? You hate me for who I am.”
“I hate you for what you hide!”
“I’m not hiding now.” He leans down, folding his body over mine, and whispers in my ear as furious tears cloud my vision. His voice is filled with venom when he speaks.
“This rage you’re feeling, the helplessness you feel right now, the fear of not knowing what’s coming, feeling exposed in a way that fucking humiliates and infuriates you, leaving you powerless,” he grunts out, each word more pained in delivery, “is exactly what I feel every time you’re threatened, and I don’t know by what or who, and yet you refuse my fucking protection.”
His words settle in just as he releases me, and I whirl and slap his chest, his face, his neck, unleashing hell. He takes every blow without so much as flinching, his eyes blazing with rage while I exhaust myself. His words barely register as my fight weakens, the desperation seeping into his eyes zaps some of my rage as I slam my palms against his heaving chest. He looks like he’s on the verge of explosion. “I just wanted you to know what your win feels like for me,” he swallows, rage controlling his voice while his eyes shine with defeat. “You win, Cecelia, I’m letting you fucking win, and I don’t know what that means.”
“I hate you,” I croak, all strength leaving me, my eyes overflowing with anger.
“For every single thing I’ve done or will ever do to you, I have a reason. And I’m sorry if they’re not good enough, but I don’t give a fuck as long as your heart keeps beating, and there’s a chance you will forgive me for making sure it does.” His voice cracks with every word. “But if you take this away from me, I have nothing. You leave me with nothing.”
The rest of my anger leaves me as the gravity of his sacrifice seeps in, and I grip his face in my hands. Furious, he jerks away from my touch.
“You have me,” I assure him as I grip him more firmly and his eyes dart away. I press a kiss to his jaw, his throat as he swallows repeatedly, vibrating with rage. Gripping his shirt, I push off on my toes and lick along his throat. “You’ll have my trust. You’ll have my devotion. You’ll have all of me.”
“Love isn’t going to save us,” he snaps.
“Maybe not. But love and trust are the only things capable of saving you and me. You have to trust me, Tobias.”
He curses, a caged bull, as I do my best to soothe his anger, pressing my body against his while sliding my hand between us, up and down his chest, before gripping his erection. He grips my wrist to stop me, making me wince, his fire-filled eyes scathing as he batters me with a look.
“Tobias, you have me,” I murmur as I press in. He jerks his chin in refusal and steps away, putting space—I refuse—between us.
Intent, I step forward, hands roaming as he looks down at me with nothing but disdain, and I feel the line thinning between love and hate as we edge along it. But I know this edge, we’ve ridden it before, and I know what wins with us, what will always win.
His eyes roam my skin, his breaths coming faster as his anger festers and familiar, potent need spikes between us.
“Damn you,” he grits out, his voice growing thick with fury as he slaps my hands away, his eyes smoldering with the promise of delivering a different kind of hell.
Stepping back, he shrugs out of his cardigan, his eyes licking heat down my body as the sweater falls to the floor. He fists his T-shirt, the hem sliding up his chiseled torso before he tosses it onto the pile. Amber eyes blazing, he toes off his boots and unzips his jeans, and I watch, entranced by the sight of him as he discards them along with his boxer and socks. His cock bobs heavily between us as my mouth waters at the sight of it. Naked and panting, we take the other in, souls bared, hearts raw. Within my next breath he pins me, denying my kiss and again facing me toward the couch before he lifts my knees to rest on the thick edge.