Page 73 of Moth
“He gave up a lot for me,” I confess against his chest. “It was hard on him.”
So hard that he’d lash out when the pressure overwhelmed him. When the weight of the world on his shoulders threatened to crush him. When I provoked him, and he felt compelled to remind me of just how much he’d sacrificed for me.
You’re a selfish bitch, Hannah. If only you just listened. Everything I’ve done is on you. It’s your fault…
“I owe him.”
“That sounds like bullshit, bunny,” Rafe says, and I remember that he’s even here, judging every word I’ve spoken. Listening. “Does he tell you that? That you owe him just for fucking being there?”
“Please stop.” I hate how pathetic I sound. Desperate. When he says it out loud, it doesn’t seem as rational as it does in my head. And it has to stay rational.
Branden loves me.
He protects me.
I owe him.
And he owns me.
“Would you break up with him?” he asks next, his voice still level. “Not for me or anyone else. Just to do it.”
It’s my turn to sigh. “It’s complicated.”
“Of course, it fucking is.” He lets his hand fall from me, fisting a handful of my sheets in lieu of my skin. “Let me guess. You know him better than anyone. He’s not always a total dick. When he’s not beating the shit out of you, he’s a pretty nice guy. You know, for a writer, you use a lot of fucking clichés.”
I eye him through my lashes, unsure of how much to read into his vitriol. Those words don’t sound entirely of his own creation. Like he’s heard them before, countless times—from someone else? “Why do you care?”
“Why?” He runs a finger over the lines of his tattoo as if the swirls of ink speak for him more than anything else—fearless power and vengeful fire. “I care because I know bullshit when I hear it and when I see it. I know you’re miserable. I know from your fucking little journal that you feel trapped and want a way out.”
My cheeks heat as I remember all the ways he’s already invaded my head. My thoughts. My soul. Yet his overall impression isn’t to mock me or even to call my musings bullshit. My brain can’t rationalize it. His understanding is an enigma. “It’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it?” He cocks his head. “Don’t tell me you feel happy with how shit is now.”
“Happy?” I taste the word. It sounds like such a foreign concept.
“Happy,” he snarls. “Hell,normal. The way you feel when you hold that fucking journal. Or when you stare wide-eyed around a club as if you’re in fucking wonderland. When your nose is in a book. When you’re in that fucking bookshop…” His voice deepens in a way that makes me shiver.Run.His hand lashes out, chasing me before I even process that I’m inching away from him. He captures my breast, kneading…
My spine arches, and my startled gasp nearly drowns out what he says next, his voice a rasp, “The way you feel when I’m inside you, andhe’snot in your head.”
Goosebumps come to life over my skin with the heat of his touch. Dazed, I stare down at my bare limbs as if observing a stranger’s. His fingers look massive on me, claiming any inch of my body he can reach. “Are you saying you’re my way out?”
“No. I’m a distraction,” he admits, his gaze cutting. “But I get bored easily, rabbit. I won’t be around for you to play with for long.”
It feels like a threat—and it is. “What do you want from me then?” I ask hoarsely. “If you think this is a game, what do you get out of it?”
“Take your pick.” Deliberately, he flicks his thumb over my nipple until it hardens. “A tight, virgin pussy. A smart-ass mouth. A girl who thinks she can beat me at this… Youcan’tbeat me at this, rabbit. I invented this fucking game. What do I get out of it? The look on your face when you realize that.”
My voice fades to a whisper, “Is that what you tell Bonnie and the other women you’ve slept with?”
He laughs and withdraws his hand from me. A second later, the calloused fingers return, inching between my legs as he rises to his knees and crouches over my body. Beneath him like this, I come alive, writhing over the sheets at his fingertips. Away from him. Toward…
“Bonnie? I could buy that bitch whatever she wanted. Fuck, I could give her every last dime I have, and she’d never get this fucking wet for me—” A thrust of his thumb punctuates the statement. He’s not boasting.
And admitting as much aggravates him like nothing else. He glowers, his brows drawn together as his fingers ease inside me one after the other, testing his theory. A scoff betrays what he finds, and he leans down, ensuring I can’t miss a single word.
“You must enjoy getting off on the attention, bunny,” he bites out against my earlobe. “You’re so goddamn wet…”
My eyelids flutter as I rock my hips against the invasion, relishing the fit. The feel of his chest rasping over mine, enhancing every inch of my skin.
