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, and he’s not 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… You can’t beat 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.
“Look at me,” my tormentor commands, going still. I shiver, bucking against him, but he’s resolute. “Fucking look at me.”
I have no choice. My eyelids flutter to him on cue, a pair of eyes watching me from above.
Satisfied, he pins me down, prying my legs farther apart. Shame unfurls, and I try to clamp my knees together, but he shakes his head, then growls until I go limp. “Stop.”
He looks, but the more he stares, the less self-conscious I feel. His gaze sears with the same intensity as his touch, traveling from my heaving chest downward. With every inch gained, his expression changes. Darkens.
“Fuck,” he grates, his throat working to swallow.
His hand slips between my legs again, and another finger eases inside me. Another. He moves them slowly, creating the barest tease of friction.
My breath catches, spine arching.
And he inhales as if empowered by