Page 19 of Burn for Me

“Why do I have to go?” She speaks so quickly that her words nearly overlap with mine.Why does it matter?

“For one, it’s your assignment,” I say slowly, tilting my head back to get a better look at her. “Two… I’ll be going too, and I can’t watch you if I’m across the sea. Now, can I?”

“I don’t need you to watch me. I’m not a child.” She says lightheartedly, but it does little to conceal the inner turmoil she’s trying to hide.

“You had a serial killer's hands on you the other day, and you didn’t pull away. Are yousureyou don’t need someone to watch you?”

She rolls her eyes, and I take the chance to scan her body, from her slim torso to her curvy hips and thighs. She’s dressed in khakis with an olive green T-shirt tucked in, her damp hair pulled back in a bun from her shower.

“I could’ve handled it.” Her confidence prompts me to raise an eyebrow as she tilts her chin defiantly.

“I know,” I reply, watching her expression shift from guarded to irritated.

“Stop acting like I’m incompetent. I’m—wait.” She looks back at a monitor, caught off guard by my compliment.

“Don’t be like that, little devil,” I say, trailing my fingers up her calf. A touch won’t hurt; it might even calm these relentless visions.

“Pouting isn't a good look on you.” I deadpan.

I don't mean it. She looks fucking gorgeous with her bottom lip slightly out and lines creasing between her brows, but I have to squash this feeling before it starts rising again.

She scoffs while leaning forward, bracing one hand on my seat and pulling my dog tags between her fingers in the other. I love it when she's flirting with me like I've seen her do others…When I have all her attention.

“I have a killer's hands on me right now. Should I pull away?” she asks innocently, and I wrap my hand around the back of her knee to ensure she doesn’t move.

“You have yourhusband'shands on you.” I flick my gaze to her lips; how naturally red they are is mesmerizing.

“Fakehusband.” she corrects me, her tone sharper than I expected.

There it fucking is again.Why does she always have to be so bloody irritating? It feels like she’s begging me to show her how fake this marriage is.

I could throw her into my lap right now and make her ride my cock until she comes hard enough that the only word she knows is ‘yours.’

“You need to back away.” My voice drops, halting my thoughts before they spiral into a territory I don't want to explore yet, but I still don’t loosen my grip.

“You won’t hurt me,” she whispers, leaning in so that her lips almost touch mine.

I want to hurt her, though, in so many ways that she'll be thanking me for the pain–I want her to know just how good death can feel before I breathe life back into her.

I can't.

I can only push her away and make her hate me, so I never know how it feels to be loved by her and then go again.

“Like you said, it's fake, so don’t get too confident about that statement.”

She pauses and lets out a harsh breath that brushes against my mouth, strong enough that I can taste her toothpaste. Her gorgeous golden eyes dart between mine as if trying to read the thoughts swirling in my head.Good luck with that.If I can’t know her like I know every other soldier on this base, she isn’t getting close to understanding me.

“Screw you,” she snaps, pulling back and dropping my dog tags, prompting me to release her. It’s a relief but doesn’t ease my heart rate; if anything, it makes it beat harder against my ribs.

“Before you go, I need to know if I should be prepared for anything when we arrive.” I focus on pulling up files from military bases, police records, and governmental reports on high society members.

“Isn’t our ridiculous training enough?”

I scoff, running my hand over the stubble on my jaw, “I’m not asking about that, Jasmine. Will you be compromised there? Is there anything else I should prepare–”

“You're not God, so stop acting like it.”

I grab her wrist, stopping her as she tries to storm off. God damn it, I wish she'd just understand–I can't do this with her.

---