pushed myself to sit on the edge, had ground my teeth to breathe in the scent of sex that flooded my awareness, made me hard again, tempted me with grabbing Lisbeth to lose myself in her body without concern for what it would do to me. To her. To anybody in this fucked up family because all that could matter was the high of touching her, tasting her, dominating her will while watching her fall.
Not even fighting gave me that. Not even the promise of pain that came with the punches I allowed before destroying my opponent.
I almost laughed to realize I had a slight problem on my hands, and that one touch, one taste, one experience would never be enough.
But it had to be.
Ours was a dance of self-destruction, of complication, of compromising situations.
But still, I fisted my hand with the need to retake her, to smother her, to claim her body with mine because fucking her hadn’t cast her from my system like everyone promised, it hadn’t scratched some simple itch. All it had done was make me want her more, driving the demon of obsession through every vein, every bone, every organ.
Turning, I traced the shape of her sleeping body, the bend of her knee, the curve of her ass, the languid line of her spine as she slept in my bed.
In that, I’d been nicer. In that, she’d already won. And although I’d told myself I wouldn’t let this happen, here I was.
I wanted more of it. But I pushed myself to my feet in a battle against myself. I dragged ass to the shower where I washed her from my skin, I rolled my neck over weary shoulders before gripping my cock to punish it for thinking for me.
A breath poured out of me as violent as the hot water doused my head, my eyes clenched shut, images of her trapped beneath me an intrusion I couldn’t escape.
Fucking hell...
What have I done?
There was only one place I could work out this frustration, and thankfully the jackass who’d engineered this situation was the one who’d be on the receiving end of my fist.
I turned off the water and stepped out, toweling myself off as I walked into the bedroom to see that Lisbeth was awake, her wide blue eyes dedicating every inch of my body to memory.
When her gaze finally lifted to my face, there was hesitation. Confusion. Regret. Fear.
Everything I was feeling reflected back to me.
“You should get a shower and get dressed. Nothing’s changed with us.”
Except it had, in ways I refused to admit.
The sheet slipped down her body as she moved, bruises from where my hands had held her, where my teeth had taken hold. I should have felt sorry for putting those marks on her skin, but all I wanted was to brand the other places that were pale flesh and uninjured, wanted to write my fucking name on a woman I’d watched since we were kids.
Lisbeth did as she was told while I got dressed and walked into the living room, drops of her dried blood marring the white marble, a seriously pissed off asshole staring at me from where he was seated on the leather couch.
Franklin’s lips were a razor thin line, anger bleeding through his typically blank expression.
“You’re not fighting tomorrow night.”
I laughed. Apparently Jacob had made good on his threat.
“Try stopping me,” I answered, the tone of my voice final.
Sitting up so that he was balanced on the edge of the seat with his elbows rested on his knees, Franklin gave me a look I hadn’t seen since I was a kid. Years ago, that expression would have scared me. Now, it only made me more determined to get my way.
“Where is Lisbeth?”
“In my room.”
“And where did that bruise on your face come from?”
“It was a lucky punch. I gave Jacob three just like it seconds later.”
“And I assume the scratch marks on your neck are from somewhere else. Unless, of course, Jacob has started fighting like a bitch. Did he pull your hair as well?”
Another laugh, humorless and deep. “Those would be from somewhere else.”
He cursed beneath his breath, disapproval flashing behind grey eyes that were locked on me. “And now what?”
Lisbeth walked into the room. I turned to watch her hesitate at the door, unsure what she’d walked into. You could cut the tension with a knife.
“Now, I’m getting ready for tomorrow’s fight.”
Ignoring what I knew he’d meant, I strode toward the door to the main