Chapter Twenty-Four #2
The crude edge to his voice sent heat spiraling through me despite my lingering frustration. There was something wrong with me, something that made my pulse race at the sight of that weapon, at the knowledge of what it represented .
"You're being an ass," I whispered, giving him my best glare.
“Yeah?” His smile was sharp, predatory, made more dangerous by the way he towered over my seated form. "Or am I just showing you exactly who you're dealing with? The man who carries death in his waistband because he'll put a bullet in anyone who threatens what's his?"
His thumb pressed harder against my lip, and I felt the cool metal of his ring. Behind him, the gun lay there like a silent promise of violence, and I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting to it.
"You want to know what that feels like, don't you?" His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Want to know what it's like to have that kind of power protecting you?"
I should have been horrified, but I found myself nodding slightly, my breath coming faster.
"Dirty little princess,” he chided, satisfaction thick in his voice. "Getting wet thinking about it, aren't you? About what I'd do to keep you safe?"
My cheeks burned with humiliation and arousal. "You're delusional."
He pressed the gun into my hands, his fingers wrapping around mine on the grip. "Hold it. Feel what real protection looks like."
The weight of it in my palms was fascinating and terrifying. Cold steel, deadly purpose, the power to end lives. My fingers trembled around the grip as dark heat coursed through me.
"There," he said, stepping back with his hands raised mockingly. "Now you're armed. Feel safer in here?” He gestured sarcastically to my definitely not safe apartment.
"Stop patronizing me." But I couldn't put the weapon down. Something about holding it made me feel powerful, a way I only felt when with Jax.
Speaking of only being with Jax…
"You want to talk about safety?" I lifted my chin, fury reigniting in my chest as I recalled the earlier events and his sudden hypocrisy. " What about the danger you put yourself in, threatening Damon’s men with it?”
His expression darkened. "That's different."
"How?" I demanded, my grip tightening on the gun. "How is it different when you risk your life for me, but I can't risk mine?"
"Because I can handle myself."
"And I can't?" The words came out angry, cutting. "You think I'm some helpless little girl who needs a big, strong man to fight her battles?"
He crossed his arms, frowning. “I’m an Easton, princess. And I think you're stubborn and reckless. That’s going to get you killed." His voice rose slightly at the end before he caught himself, remembering Leo sleeping down the hall.
I gestured with the gun, his eyes tracking the movement with predatory focus. "You pulled this on two men in broad daylight. You threatened them. What if they targeted you? Being an Easton doesn’t mean anything in this neighborhood.”
Something flickered in his eyes—surprise, maybe, that I was thinking about his safety. It almost made me sad that he wouldn’t expect me to.
"That's not your concern." He deflected.
My anger sparked again.
“You think I don't care what happens to you? I would die if someone put a bullet in you because of me.”
The admission was raw and honest. His jaw clenched, muscles working as he processed my words.
"Estelle—"
"No." I cut him off, gesturing at him with the gun again. "You don't get to dismiss this. You don't get to act like your life doesn't matter, like I wouldn't be destroyed if something happened to you."
For a moment, his mask slipped. I saw the vulnerability beneath the arrogance, the fear he kept buried.
Then his expression hardened again, his gaze falling to the gun in my shaking hands. "Give me the gun. "
"No."
I don’t know why I refused.
"Estelle." His voice dropped to that dangerous register. "Give me the fucking gun."
"Make me."
The words were barely out of my mouth before he was moving. His hand shot out, wrapping around the barrel as he yanked it from my grip. I lunged for it, but it was already gone and out of reach.
"You want to act like a brat?” His arm wrapped around my waist, hauling me against his chest. "I'll treat you like one."
Before I could react, he was lifting me, throwing me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing. I pounded against his back, flailing, but his grip was iron.
"Put me down!" I whisper-yelled.
"No." He strode toward the bedroom, his hand splayed possessively across my ass. "You want to be a brat? We're doing it where Leo can't hear you scream."
My bedroom door shut behind us, the lock clicking with finality. He set me down roughly, his hands immediately framing my face as he backed me against the wall.
"Now," he growled, his body caging me in, "are you going to listen to me, or do I need to fuck some sense into you?"
The crude words sent heat spiraling through me. His hips pressed against mine, and I could feel how hard he was, how much our fight had affected him.
“You’re insane,” I breathed, but my body betrayed me, arching into his touch.
"And you're wet." His hand slid between my thighs, fingers pressing against the fabric of my pants. "Fighting me gets you off, doesn't it, princess?"
Instead of answering, I reached down and grabbed his cock through his jeans, mimicking his actions and squeezing hard.
"Fuck!" He jerked against me, his hand shooting down to grab my wrist. "You little—you don't get to touch me when you're being a brat. "
He yanked my hand away, pinning both my wrists above my head with one large hand. His other tangled in my hair, tugging my head back to expose my throat.
"You want to play dirty?" His teeth grazed my neck, making me gasp. "I can play dirtier."
He yanked the cashmere sweater over my head, and cool air hit my exposed skin, making my nipples harden beneath my bra.
“Such a bad girl,” he chided, his voice thick with desire and frustration. "Getting off on this. Getting off on me manhandling you."
“No, I’m not,” I panted, glaring up at him.
“Yes, you are.” He smirked before crashing his lips onto mine, brutal and claiming. "You hate that you need me to take control when you're too stubborn to listen."
His hand slid down my body, fingers hooking in the waistband of my pants. "Are you going to be a good girl and listen to me? Or do I still need to fuck the attitude out of you?"
The choice was heavy with promise and threat. My body screamed for his touch, but my pride refused to yield.
“I’m not moving in with you,” I whispered.
His smile was dark. "Wrong answer, princess."