14. Fourteen #2
Her breath saws in and out, hot against my chest as I yank the soaked jeans down her legs and I rip them apart, throwing them as far away from her.
She’s trembling, arms crossing over herself, but her body is right there in my grip.
Her bare thighs shaking, the curve of her small waist exposed under my hands.
Then my gaze falls on what remains between us.
Fuck.
Her thong. Black lace, nearly transparent, the thin strip clinging to her hips, damp from the spill.
“Liam —” she gasps through labored breaths.
I don’t give her time because there isn’t any.
My fingers hook under the band, tugging once and it’s gone.
Both of her hands flying down to my shoulders to balance herself as her eyes burn into mine, wide and wet with humiliation, but I avoid looking at her nakedness.
That’s crossing a line I am not comfortable with.
“And what the fuck.” I tear down a strap of her bra, the sound sharp of a rip.
“Were you doing in my garage?”
Rip.
“Looking for me?”
Rip.
“Or just begging to see what I’d do to you?” I challenge heavily and I swallow hard.
The taste of her fear and my hunger choke me.
“I…” Her lips tremble, and I look for something to cover her with and grab a filthy blanket from the corner, dust flying.
“Come here.” My voice is a snarl, sharp enough to hide the tremor beneath it.
“Why?” Her voice shakes.
“Because I told you so.” With that, my little fawn steps closer, and I wrap her in the blanket, hiding every curve, every inch of skin before I do something I cannot undo.
She gags on the dust, coughing into the fabric. “It smells like dead rats.”
I almost laugh.
“Better dust than acid, princess.” I shoot back roughly, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders to make her want to crawl out of her bearskin. I lift her, her body light in my arms, and carry her out into the sun.
I haul her back to the house, her head buried in my chest. Every second of her pressed against me is a second too long. She looks exhausted and in pain and my skin itches, my body tight with the war of wanting to crush her closer and throw her as far away as I can.
“Are you okay?” I softly ask, as if I really give a fuck. Her eyes open slowly, disbelief written all over her, but she stays quiet, looking at me with her shot eyes from crying too much.
I don’t care.
I set her down against the sink, standing tall behind her, the edge biting into her hips. She gasps, knees buckling, hands fluttering as if she doesn’t know where to put them.
“Stay,” I growl, crowding her in as I twist open the tap and grab her wrists before she can move.
Her eyes flare, huge, brown, searching mine. “Liam —”
I shove her hands under the stream, holding them there when she flinches from the cold and the pain. Acid streaks wash away, leaving pale, pink welts rising in their place, turning silver. She whimpers, jerking, but I grip her harder, assessing the damage.
“Stop moving. Do you want to keep your skin? We have to rinse it off.”
Tears spill hot, running down her cheeks. “You’re enjoying this. It hurts.” She holds in that last sob.
Christ. She isn’t wrong. The acid has eaten through nearly everything she was wearing, but I acted fast enough for her skin to be unharmed except for her hands, and they aren’t too bad. This could’ve been nightmarish, as much as I wanted to scare her, this felt like it had gone too far.
I don’t want to physically hurt her. I want to mentally break her.
Then the blanket slides off.
One very slow drag down her shoulders, hitting the tiles with a wet slap. I don’t let her move because I can’t move.
My hands pin her in place at the sink, wrists locked under the spray.
She jolts, trying to twist, arms jerking to cover herself, but it is too late for that.
Her bare skin shows under the soft kitchen light, goosebumps lifting across her chest and stomach.
Her breath stutters, and for one suspended moment, there is nothing but the two of us and the sound of water.
My jaw locks until it aches, and she looks up at me as if she doesn’t know whether to run or beg.
“Enjoying?” She dares to ask.
I fist her hair and wrench her head back, venom snapping the silence in two.
“Do you think I enjoy saving you from yourself?” My breath is ragged against her temple, hushing through my teeth. “You’re delusional.”
However, my body betrays me. Every inch of her is pressed to me, heat bleeding into my chest.
Her voice breaks, but defiant. “Then let me go, Liam.”
My mouth is at her ear, my unexpected words scraping her skin.
“Not a chance.” I tsk. “Not a fucking chance.”
My mouth brushes the line of her jaw, tasting the salt of her tears.
My grip slips from her wrists to her forearms, then lower, fingers grazing the inside of her elbow, her waist. Every tremor of her body shivers into me, feeding a hunger I can’t leash.
Feeding a compulsion to break her more, to hear her whimper under my weight, under my hold, around her neck.
I want to own her, to throw her away and give her a taste of how desolate I feel. Let her swallow the pain I feel between my ribs from losing my brother. If she hadn't been in his life, he would’ve been more careful.
I shouldn’t allow myself to even loathe her because it’s as much of an intense feeling as love, and I’d never be capable of loving her. She lets out a moan that I want to swallow out of her.
I should pull back, but my mouth drags lower against her neck, and even though I can’t help myself, I pause because I want to know what she’d do with all the pain I have coming for her.
“Please, let me go, Liam,” she begs in a worked-up breath, and I don’t realize how tightly I am pulling her hair back, tipping her chin too close, her breath on my lips. I could spit in her mouth just to prove a point, but then the faintest arch of her back presses into me...
And that’s what does it.
I rip myself away so fast she falls forward into the sink. My cock throbs against my zipper, my throat raw from the betrayal I feel.
“Never walk into my world again,” I rasp, voice guttural. “Next time I won’t save you.”
I turn and leave her there, dripping, breathless, naked, already starved for what I denied her and denied myself.