Page 46 of Jagger's Remorse
He stills. "What truth?"
"That you've thought about this every time you showered for five years. That you've fucked your fist in here imagining it was me."
His next thrust drives all the air from my lungs. "Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I've fucked myself thinking about you. Hated myself for it. Came anyway." His hand wraps around my throat. "That what you want to hear? That you've been making me hard since you were nineteen and covered in your father's blood?"
I urge him. "Keep going."
"You ruined me that night. The way you looked at me. Like you could see through all my bullshit to the corrupt core." He pounds into me harder. "Like you knew I'd end up right here, fucking you against this wall, unable to stop even though I know you're planning my death."
"And you love it."
"God help me, I do."
"Say my name."
"Scarlett—"
"No. What you call me in your head when you're alone."
His rhythm falters. "Little dragon," he growls against my neck. "My little dragon."
"Yours?"
"Mine. Even if it kills us both."
The words break something in both of us.
I come with his name on my lips, nails raking down his back hard enough to scar.
He follows me over, driving deep one last time.
Holds me there against the wall like he's trying to fuse us into one person.
Like if he goes deep enough, stays long enough, maybe we won't have to be enemies.
But we are.
We always will be.
Even as our bodies shake with aftershocks.
Even as he presses his forehead to mine and breathes like he's drowning.
Even as I card my fingers through his wet hair and pretend this is tenderness instead of war.
"I'm going to destroy you," I whisper against his mouth.
"I know," he whispers back.
"Then why?—"
He pulls out slowly, sets me down like I'm something precious. "Because maybe destruction is all I have left to give you."
The loss of him makes me want to scream.
