Page 34 of Break

“I need to get back to the scrimmage,” the athletic trainer says. “He wants to get back on the field. See if that’s possible. It’s either broken or twisted. Considering his cursing.”

“Shockingly, it’s toned down,” Hope says as if I’m not there. “I’ll take care of it.”

The athletic trainer whispers something in her ear, glances at me, and she nods. “If he gets out of line, I’ll make sure he thinks twice about it.”

The guy shrugs then half-jogs, then fast-walks back toward the stadium. She glances at me and stays just out of my grasp as I glower at her. “Are you actually going to inspect my ankle or just stare at me?”

“It’s twisted and you’re playing it up. Your toes keep curling. You keep moving it.”

“It hurts like a bitch,” I pant.

We watch one another for a long while. I swear I see the spark of violence in her eyes for a second. Like she could get away with breaking my ankle, but she’s too sweet for that. Hope always has been and always will be. She’s proven that. I don’t get how she’sstill this meek, still this restrained. After all she’s been through, she should be ready to get some payback and I’m right here.

She yelled at me, but nothing else. She has some words at her disposal, but she doesn’t fight. She doesn’t punch. She just… tenderly checks my ankle. Every brush of her fingers across my bruised ankle makes my dick hard.

It shouldn’t. It does hurt, but when she turns my ankle slightly, I forget to wince and find her eyes on me. I stare her down, daring her to say a word. Nothing comes out.

“You’re just bruised, Knox. Not even twisted,” she hisses. “Why are you out of the scrimmage?”

“It’ll give them false hope when they play us for a game that matters,” I say, then hop off the bed and stand in front of her, closing off her exits. “Plus, it gets me this.”

“It doesn’t get you—”

“I get you alone,” I growl.

She swallows, glances around, then takes one step back, then another, and another until she’s in her office. I stick my bad foot out when she starts to close the door, and she hisses out something furious.

I push the door open, then close it behind me. “Hope, you are going to hear me out.”

“I’m not going to! You’re an asshole, you—”

I catch her hand before she can decide whether to hit me or push me away. I force her arm behind her lower back so she’s flush against me. I stare down at her, givingher no escape

She pants as she stares up at me. Her mouth opens and closes like she can’t decide what words to use. “I know what you’re waiting for.”

“For you to disappear,” she hisses.

“This again?” I groan. “You can punish me and punish yourself. You can live in the past. But it’s not going to change shit. I’m not sorry for pushing your limits and taking what I wanted from you. I’m not a guy who does things the soft way. I’m not a guy who waits until you beg… unless we’re talking about whether you come.”

She swallows. “You can’t just—”

“I’m not going to soften myself or my words for you. I don’t know how to do that lovey-dovey crap. It’s all fake, anyway. People saying what they want the other person to hear while hiding what they really want. I don’t hide, Hope,” I snarl.

She keeps watching me, then swallows sharply. She shudders and tries to free herself from my hold. I lower her arm until my fingers are grazing her ass. Such a nice ass. And her tits rubbing against my chest are perfect. I’m already getting harder by the second as I imagine fucking her on every counter and wall of this room. Her moans would echo. I’d teach her bruises and aggression are affection in our own twisted, amazing way.

“I’m not sorry that we fucked. I’m not sorry that I want to own you like that again, to claim your perfect pussy and make it mine,” I snarl.

She trembles, and I reach up with my free hand to undo the buttons on her shirt, lower and lower until her cleavage is there. She squirms, but I lower my face until she can’t move withoutthe threat of me biting or kissing her. I don’t know which is more damning.

“Be a good girl. Forme, Hope. Because you know you like my aggression even when you hate it. Because you saw your father’s blood on my hands and for one second, you wished I’d killed him for you,” I growl.

Her eyes dilate and she swallows. “You guys really fucked me up.”

I make a low sound in my throat and caress the scar I left between her perfect tits. They’re fuller now. My fingers trail over the top curve of her breast until I see her nipple harden. Her teeth click together, and I smirk.

“Do you want to do it back, Hope?” I ask in a sultry whisper. “Do you want to make me yours, to play pretend and control me like that? Want to add a scar to my skin?”

Her eyes war with mine. I see a mix of emotion there, emotions I wish I couldn’t identify. Finally, she takes a slow breath and steps into me. It’s so out of character that my hand loosens on her wrist. In a move so fast I don’t expect it, she slaps my hand from her skin and manages to break free of my hold and buttons up her shirt.

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