Page 95 of His To Erase
“You bleeding out in my bed was the insufferable part.”
He finally turns toward me, deciding I’m finally worth his full attention. Tattoos ripple across his chest and arms as he moves, and the ink is making me flush everywhere.
He sets a plate in front of me, and it’s a breakfast burrito. Eggs, diced ham, and tater tots. It smells so good, it pisses me off.
“Eat,” he says.
“What, no poison?”
“Didn’t think you were worth the effort.”
I raise a brow. “Charming.”
God, he’s such an asshole. And somehow it still sounds hot coming out of his mouth. Which probably says more about me than him. I don’t love that. He’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, and he looks like something I desperately wish I could climb right now. And of course his arms are doing thatthing.I need to get my hormones under control before I start licking his arms.
“You want charm, try Tinder.”
“Oh, I did,” I deadpan. “He brought me to the woods and stitched me up after I got stabbed. Real romantic.”
“Lucky you.”
“I feel blessed. Truly.”
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t smile. He just watches me with that unreadable calm—like he’s already five moves ahead and I’m still figuring out the rules.
Yeah, well, fuck you.
“So?” I challenge, resting a hand on the back of the stool. “You gonna keep dodging the name thing, or should I just call you Dick?”
That earns a look. The slow drag of his eyes is making me feel like I’m being unwrapped and discarded all at once.
“Call me whatever you want, dear,” he says finally.
“God complex much?”
“Wouldn’t need one if you knew how to behave.”
The way he says that means he knows exactly what to say to make me fall apart. I grip the counter, knuckles whitening.
“You’re seriously going to make me beg for your name?”
“You don’t strike me as the type who begs.”
He pins me with a look that hits like a chokehold, and the air disappears from my lungs, my brain short-circuits, and my thighs clench like the traitors they are.Zero loyalty to my dignity.
Jesus Christ. I’m feral. I need help. A priest. Possibly an exorcism.
And my pussy?
Of course she likes the guy who probably has a murder room in the basement.Perfect. Love that for me.
“Shame. You’d look good on your knees.”
My pulse trips as he steps closer, he’s now close enough that I feel that shift in the air.
“Steven,” he says at last, unbothered. “But if you moan it, I won’t stop you.”
My mouth opens and closes. My brain is crashing under the weight of one stupid, filthy sentence that shouldn’t do a damn thing to me. Yet, here we are, with my thighs clenched.
