Page 76 of Refrain

“What?”

She thinks for a minute. Whatever drove her here kept her up at night. Shadows line her eyes. Her hands are shaking. In theend,she grits her teeth and sighs, settling on a single question. “Tell me… How would you define love?”

My mouth quirks, ready to deliver a laugh, but she doesn’t even attempt to return it. She wants a serious answer, it seems. It just so happens that I have one.

“It’s pain.” I eye my sketchbook, picturing the drawings I’ve scribbled inside it. Dante. Arno. Danny. “It’s getting addicted tosomeone’s own personal brand of the shit. It’s letting it fuck you up. It’s wanting to be fucked up. Love is poison.”

“And hate?” She sounds even more desperate now, like a student seeking the right answers for a test. She’s trying to make sure our papers match. For some reason, she thinks I’ve paid more attention in this damn class than she has.

“Hate isn’t much different, but it is way more addictive,” I tell her. “It’s all the shit you told yourself you don’t ever want to feel. Anger. Rage. Jealousy. Every fucking temptation rolled into one. You may convince yourself you despise that sting, but that’s a lie. You crave it. It’s power. You can’t be hurt by someone you hate, so it lets you forget. And when you finally lose control… Well, you have something to blame, don’t you? All that hate sets you free. Free to fucking feel…everything.”

She’s silent for a minute, letting each definition sink in. “And what do you hate?”

I shrug. “Is that a trick question?” I try to play the response off with a laugh, but it trickles from my throat as a sigh. The real answer lurks within my skull. That voice only nicotine or whiskey can smother these days.Yourself.

“Do you hate…you hate when I touch you?” Her free hand flattens against the table.

I let my gaze trace every single pale finger. I’ve never been much of a liar. “Yes. I hate it.”

She’s envy and rage wrapped up in one tormented package. Her touch brings about everything I don’t want to feel. Everything I crave. Everything I fucking hate.

She inhales sharply, relishing the sting of the confession. Her gaze drifts up to meet mine above the burning embers of the cig between her two fingers. She finishes it with one harddragand puts it out amid the pile of ashes in the tray.

“Show me?”

I don’t know who moves first. Maybe she stands up. Or maybe I beat her to it. Eitherway,I have her backed into acorner, her ass striking the edge of the counter. She grasps theledgewith both hands and hauls herself on top of it. Her gaze never breaks away from mine while her knees clamp onto my waist, pulling me in. Her breathtricklesagainst my lower lip, harsh and unsteady.

I want to steal every hit of nicotine from her. That’s why I claim her mouth with mine. That’s it. She’s a living, breathing cigarette. She’ll burn me just as badly if I’m not careful.

It’s not a kiss. She bites me. I inhale her. Blood. Ash. Smoke. We’re addicts desperate to salvage whatever the fuck we can from each other. I already know her poison of choice. She just wants to forget.

Her fingers fan out along my back. Feeling. Flexing. I copy her, only my hands aim too low, and she groans into my ear. Angry. Pissed.

She hates me. I hatethis.

I show her how much. I lose control, if only for a second. My hands are beneath the lace of her thong, grasping at her skin, tearing through the curls between her legs. I find her pussy and sink in, and she nearly comes off the damn counter. I have to use my body to pin her flat against the bottom of a cupboard. I hold her like that. I trap her like that. She’s captive, held by my fingertips. I own her. I’ll break her.

I release her.

She’s panting when I do, her yellow eyes damp and unfocused. I can almost hear the plea she’s too proud to say.Not yet. Not yet.

I have to inject her into my veins again. Just a little. One more hit.

I slide a hand between her legs again and tease her with the pad of my thumb. The sounds she makes work on my control like a hammer, and I come apart bit by bit by fucking bit.

I kiss her again. I bite her. Hard. Harder. She moans at the pain, raking her fingers through my hair, her nails digging in topull me closer as she writhes against my dick. I can feel her through the denim. Fuck, I need… I want…

No.

I push away from her, my fingers pawing at the counter for leverage. She doesn’t attempt to pull me back. She stares up at me, her head braced against the edge of a cupboard. Everything she’s thinking spills from her eyes. She thinks it’s her. She’s not pretty enough. Sexy enough. Whatever.

That never used to bother me before. Control was all that mattered. All that does matter.

With one fucking needy, desperate look, she shatters it.

I’m on her again, my mouth open. I let her show me where to touch her, her hands clawing at my shoulders, pulling me down. My teeth graze her bare breast. Her stomach. Lower. I don’t hesitate to sink my fingers beneath thelacyfabric and drag it down. Her legs spread for me, her hands fisting in my hair.

I take her hard, like a fucking shot. All at once. No drop of whiskey has ever burned me worse. I’ve never tripped this badly on liquor. She’s in my head. She’s in my fucking skin. Her heat. Her moans. I’m too fucking weak to block her out.

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