Page 71 of Dash

“Babe?” He knocks again.

I straighten, squaring my shoulders. Whatever happens, I can deal with it. I will deal with it. I don’t have a choice.

Ignoring the nausea coating my throat, I pull the lock back and open the door.

He’s leaning his forearms over his head, the move so sexy I almost combust.

If I wasn’t standing on the edge of a cliff, hanging on by my fingertips, I might have thrown myself into his arms and on to his mercy.

But instead, I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to stop the relentless churning.

“So, you met my mother,” I say in a small voice. “I guess now you understand why I’m the way I am. That was the roadmap I had to follow.” I duck around him, and he lets me go, though he follows me as I move into the kitchen.

Suddenly, my flat is too small. There’s nowhere to escape him, to escape the weight of this.

“You don’t have to stay,” I throw casually over my shoulder, even though my heart is shattering. “She’s right. George can fix the lock. And you survived a round with Evelyn. I can’t ask more than that.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t let a single emotion slide onto his face as he hooks his thumbs into the tool belt.

“And I’m sorry for everything I said. It was the only way to shut her up. Don’t read into it. I mean, I know we’re not really togethertogether. Fucking isn’t really dating, is it? But she was just being a bitch, and she’s right when she says I’ve always been rebellious.” I trail off, my heart in my throat. He’s not saying anything, and that has my nerves snapping.

“Anyway,” I continue, fighting back my tears, “it’s been fun, but I don’t expect you to stick around and deal with her. I don’t want to deal with her and, unfortunately, we share DNA.”

“You done?” he asks, his voice gruff and low.

“I mean?—”

He cuts me off before I can say another word. “Your mother is a bitch.”

“Understatement,” I mutter.

“But I’m not your mother’s boyfriend.” I cringe until he cups my jaw. “I’m yours. Watching you out there was hot as fuck.”

I blink. Then I blink again. “Has that tool belt done something to your brain?” I whisper.

His smile is ruinous. Both disarming and so sinful, it makes my thighs clench.

“Remind me to never piss you off.” He presses me back against the wall, lifting my hands over my head and holding them so I can’t move. Oh, fuck. Am I panting?

Then he kisses me like he’s branding me with every brush of his lips.

“I’m not letting you go because your mother is a cunt,” he murmurs in my ear.

“Right.” I sound breathy.

My hips lift towards him, trying to find him, to release the ache building between my legs.

“Phew, because I might have turned into some kind of crazy stalker if you left me.”

He lets go of me so he can slide his hand under my waistband and into my leggings. The minute he touches me, I let out a disgustingly feral sound.

His other hand grips my face, turning my head to the side so he can trail kisses down my jaw.

“No one has ever stamped their mark on me quite as thoroughly as you did just now,” he growls against my skin. “Your mother is lucky she didn’t have a front-row seat to the things I wanted to do to you.”

I gasp as he thrusts his fingers inside me.

“Dash…” I gasp as he hits that spot deep inside me that makes my thighs tremble.

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