Page 12 of Touch of Hate
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
But damned if her innocence doesn’t strike me as hilarious. Here I am, fighting for my life, pretending my dick isn’t doing its damnedest to convince me we’d both be much more comfortable if he was out and buried deep in her pussy. Pretending I haven’t entertained dangerous fantasies about being her first in every way.
In my head, I’ve taken her in every filthy, depraved way possible.
And she thinks I’m being noble.
Who could blame me for laughing?
Her delicate brows draw together. “What’s so funny?” she demands, even stomping her foot like the child she still is in so many ways.
It only makes me laugh harder.
“You,” I finally manage to gasp. Her cheeks darken, pain touching her eyes and making her mouth tick downward at the corners.
Guilt lances me, and immediately, I want to apologize. Hurting her is the last thing I want to do.
She deserves nothing less than complete happiness, safety, and security. The very thought of causing her pain leaves me with a burning ache in my chest.
It’s better this way.
That’s all that keeps me from letting an apology slip from my lips. Knowing it’s better for her to hate me or at least resent my dismissiveness.
The sooner she abandons these pointless fantasies, the better for us both. Because I don’t know how many of these encounters I can make it through before my thin grasp on self-control dissolves.
“You’re a child,” I continue, knowing it digs the knife in deeper but pushing through my guilt just the same. The guilt would be much worse if I gave in. If I forgot the many reasons this can’t happen.
“Do I look like a child to you?” she whispers, tilting her head to the side.
Wrong question. Way wrong. It’s almost enough to make me hate her for putting me through this. If I thought she had any real understanding of the fire she’s so carelessly playing with, my insatiable craving might turn to resentment.
“You know what I’m saying,” I continue in a low, smooth voice that completely belies the torment tearing me in half. “You’re acting like a child. Only children think things will always go their way. They don’t understand the reasons for the existence of rules and boundaries.”
She has the nerve to scoff and toss her head, which has the unfortunate effect of sending a fresh wave of sweet scent my way. “All of a sudden, you care about rules and boundaries? That’s new.”
“Don’t pretend to know anything about me,” I warn, watching her shoulders lift defensively at my change in tone. “If anything, you should understand the importance of what I’m trying to tell you. You think I don’t care about rules, but here I am, trying to convince you how wrong this is. Give it a little thought, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Stop.” Rather than lash out the way she would if this was nothing more than a game of sibling teasing, her voice is soft. She shakes her head while a tiny smile curves her tempting, glossy lips.
“You don’t have to try so hard.”
That’s what she thinks. I’m at the end of my endurance as it is. If I don’t try hard, I get myself killed.
The thought sparks a new tactic. “Do you want me to die? Is that what you’re saying?”
Her head snaps back the way I knew it would. “That’s the last thing I want.”
“Then it’s best you stay away from me because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if anybody so much as suspects what you’re playing at. You wouldn’t be the one blamed for it—you get that, right? It would be my ass in a sling. My balls your father cuts off. Is that what you want?”
When her brow furrows, I’m as good as home free. Reality is finally trickling through that brain of hers. I might make it out of this alive.
Or so I think before she touches a hand to my chest, over my racing heart. So damn tender, sweet, and caring. Dangerously so, because the yearning to lean into her touch is enough to take my breath away.
“I get it. You want this as much as I do, but you’re afraid.”