Page 46 of Shattered Hate

“Let me go, Trayton,” he hisses, straining against my grip. Standing over his five-foot-eleven frame, my warm breath caresses his flushed face, and I watch as his lashes flutter in frustration. We’re dangerously close now, and despite the chaos of the moment, I cannot—will not—allow him to slip away. The image of his full, demanding lips and the haunting recollections of him from my dreams—no, my living nightmares—floods mymind. In an unwelcome twist of want, I feel a shiver of sensation ripple through me.

What the fuck is this feeling?

“Does Max and everyone at the tattoo parlor know about your old life, Daxton?” His entire body stiffens, his shoulders drooping as if a heavy weight has just been placed on them. The silence that follows is more telling than any words he could muster. “Didn’t think so,” I say and give a smug grin.

“You’re a fucking cunt, you know that,” he snarls, his lips curling back to reveal gritted teeth. I imagine if I let him go and took a step back, I’d see his fists clenched tightly at his side. He’s likely envisioning all the ways he could inflict pain on me, picturing his fists colliding with my face and the satisfaction it would bring him. Meanwhile, my mind drifts to thoughts of him on his knees, his lips wrapped around my length.

Does he gag?

Does he swallow it?

Does he spit on it?

Does he savor it like it’s the best ice pop he’s ever tasted? My gaze fixates on his mouth, and I can’t help but imagine how perfectly those lips would fit around me.

“Get comfy, Daxton,” I say, my voice now low and gravelly. The tension in the air is palpable, and I’m painfully aware of the hardness pressing against my jeans. All I would have to do is push myself into him slightly and he’ll feel it too.

At that moment, I decide I don’t care if he does. I push myself into him, watching as his breath hitches and his eyes widen, the dullness on his face replaced by a spark of electricity.

I lean down, my lips grazing his ear. My body tilts forward deliberately, and I murmur, “I want my dare you owe me.” Each word is heavy with the promise of something more intoxicating. I let go of his hands, but I don’t step back. I stay towering over him, his body plastered to mine.

For a long moment, his eyes search mine as if trying to read my intent, and when the realization finally washes over him, his gaze slides down to my chest, losing eye contact with me. “Go to hell, Trayton,” he grumbles, stepping back with an almost dismissive gesture. “What do you want from me?” he huffs out, his arms rising dramatically before they fall, and his palms slap against his thighs. “You don’t want me to fuck the rival. Fine, I won’t.” His eyes lock onto mine with unwavering intensity.

I tilt my head, letting a knowing smirk play across my lips. “I want you on your knees.”

The words hang in the charged air, and Daxton’s face shows a flicker of shock as he blinks rapidly. “Sorry, what?” he asks so weakly he seems to falter under the weight of my challenge. I don’t take my eyes off him as I walk backward toward my bed.

“You heard me.” My eyes trail down his body, lingering on every defined muscle and curve, as he stands here, rigid, caught off guard—a deer frozen in the glare of headlights. “On your knees, and crawl to me.” I’m both playful and commanding, and I tilt my head further and offer a challenging smirk. “Remember.”

I settle back onto the bed, my body sinking into the soft, messy pillows, and watch him stand anxiously in the middle of the room. The sight of him, illuminated by a sliver of fading light, stokes a fierce desire inside me. Daxton’s lips, so enticing, seem almost too fuckable to resist, and I know I’ve got him exactly where I want him—there’s no room for no.

“I’m not kissing you,” he declares, tilting his chin up defiantly.

“Who said anything about kissing?” I tease.

“That was the dare,” he reminds me, with an edge to his tone.

Raising my hand slowly, I point directly at him. “You’re right. But what you didn’t know is that if you forfeit, you have to do the ultimate dare.” A sly smirk spreads over my face as I speak, my words sounding as fearless as they feel, knowing full well that ifhe did end up checking whether I’m talking shit—which I am—it will be too late anyway.

“What’s the ultimate dare?” he asks, a trace of vulnerability creeping into his voice.

“You get on your knees, crawl to me, and suck my dick until I’m coming down your throat.” The instruction hangs in the air as I watch him throw his head back in a raw, noisy laugh that fills the room.

“Good one,” he manages between bursts of laughter, and I can’t help but be drawn to his genuine smile and the warmth in his eyes.

“I may be good with a joke now and then, Daxton, but right now, I’m anything but joking.” Instantly, his laughter falters, replaced by a tense stiffness; his shoulders tighten, and his breathing quickens, revealing the mix of desire and uncertainty pulsing through him. I lean back on my elbows, tilting my head as I study every subtle shift in his body language.

“And what if I say no?” he whispers in a near-inaudible murmur that trembles with hesitation.

I allow a confident but gentle smile to curve my lips as I meet his eyes. “You won’t.”

“Because if I do, you’ll tell Max about the drug dealing,” he says flatly, more of a statement than a question. I don’t respond verbally; instead, I fix him with a smirk that I know gets under his skin, the kind of expression that always seems to light a fire of irritation in his eyes. “You know that’s sexual assault, right? It’s blackmail.”

“I didn’t say anything,” I reply casually, and I shrug my shoulders, maintaining an air of calmness.

“You don’t have to. It’s you, Trayton. It’s written all over your face.” I bite my lip, studying him carefully—the tension in his shoulders, the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the intensity in his gaze as he assesses me. If this were something hetruly didn’t want to do, I’d see it in his body language. So I decide to test my theory. I sit up, lazily peeling my shirt off before reclining back on my elbows. His eyes widen, and I know I’ve hit the mark.

His gaze travels over my body like a magnet drawn to every contour and muscle. His eyes trace the lines of my pecs, and I watch as he visibly gulps, his fists clenching tightly at his sides, his breath becoming ragged.

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