Page 26 of Taking Denver

“She does. So, you’re coming home,” he says, dark gaze darting across my features. “I’m tired of cleaning up your mess.”

“That’s all you’re good for,” I say quietly, my hate clouding my need to survive him.

“You don’t get to pick and choose when my name means something to you,” he says, his voice clipped. “You want me to make this go away? You come home.”

I’ve always been tough, stubborn, and willing to get hurt if it means getting what I want. But when it comes to Ranger, my strength is my downfall because I push his buttons. I hurt him because I can.

“I’d rather go to jail,” I whisper.

His patience snaps. He grips my neck and pushes me against the wall, but it’s a false show of power because his other hand cradles the back of my head to protect it from the impact. He’s never hurt me. Not physically. I’ve seen him commit violence that haunts me, but the monster others see isn’t the person he is with me.

Sometimes I fool myself into thinking I’ve tamed him. Maybe that’s what landed me here in the first place.

“You’re an ungrateful little brat.” He presses me against the wall, his hand loose around my throat, and my fear is tinged with excitement. It sparks in my blood, igniting my veins as he boxes me in, his presence a shadow I’d hide in forever if my cowardice would let me. “He didn’t love you. Get the fuck over it.”

“Stop it,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

My voice pulls him from whatever anger he harbors, and he exhales softly, relaxing the grip around my neck even further. He presses his forehead to mine, his other hand moving to my lower back to pull me closer. “Come home and let me take care of you. I’ll make this all go away.”

I want to push him away, beg him to leave me alone, but his lips press to my cheek, and his whispers in my ear feel like home.

I let my arms circle his neck, and he holds me, and I hate myself. I’ve been so strong for so long, but after a few minutes in his presence, I’m desperate for his approval, for his love.

“I’m scared of what will happen,” I say and squeeze my eyes closed.

“No, you’re scared of who you’ll be. But I know you’ll be great.” He kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my jaw. Small, gentlekisses that echo nothing of the true monster he is. “We can be great together.”

I knew that was coming. I knew he would say it, and part of me wanted to hear it. It would be so much easier to give in to him.

“Please, Ranger, don’t.” But he kisses me, and I can’t fight him.

His lips against mine make my knees dip. The kiss isn’t urgent like the last one we shared. It’s slow, kind,soft. Heat follows the leisurely dip of his tongue into my mouth, and he pulls my body flush against his.

This is the Ranger I know. He allows me to see the man behind the monster, the softness beyond weathered stone, and I’ve survived off those glimpses for six years. He’s spoon-fed me kindness, and I’m so starved for it that I’ve always patiently waited, mouth open, ready for whatever he’s willing to give.

I’m not stupid. I know this is how he’s worn me down. But these moments, these soft words and kind caresses, lure me in. And the moment I returned them, he had unleashed a beast that had taken me with a passion that rivaled violence. He hadn’t demanded my body; I’d handed it over willingly.

And his closeness makes me ache for more.

I’d plucked a beautiful, deadly flower and sucked on the poison, and now I’m desperate again to remember its taste. Twice, I’d given in to his beast, and twice, I was sure no oxygen had passed my lips the entire night Ranger devoured me.

“Let me have you again,” he whispers.

No.

I can’t. I won’t. The last time I’d given in, I’d been drunk on the events of that night, filled with a power I shouldn’t have had, and used him to extend the feeling. I shouldn’t have let him go near me.

But…

“You belong with me, Denver.” His mouth is against my ear as he flicks open the button of my shorts. He kisses my shoulder, nibbling gently along my collarbone as he drags down the short zipper. My body thrums with the impulse to grab his hand and grind myself against it, my body aching for a release only he’d been able to give—one laced with danger and regret. “Will you come home?”

Why am I so weak for him? Why can’t I say no?

“I…”

His lips are on mine again, and when his hand dips into my shorts, he growls against my mouth. “Open your legs, Denver.”

“Say the word, Denver.”

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