Page 125 of Flock
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck you. That all?”
“It had to happen.”
“No, it didn’t. Leave me the fuck alone. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
“Cecelia—”
“Fuck you, Dominic. And your sick fucking games. I’m out. That’s my decision.” I turn and try to jerk my arm away but he refuses, gripping me by the waist and yanking me back against his chest, his breath hot in my ear.
“You know we didn’t mean it.”
“I don’t know shit. But I’m done with you, with both of you.”
“I wish that was true.” Still gripping my wrist, he flips me around to face him. I move to slap him again and he clutches my other hand before pinning me to his car. “We had our reasons.”
“Did you? Good for you. Guess what? I don’t care.”
“You do fucking care. You belong to us.”
I snort. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”
“I told you to stay away, and now you’re in it. What happened that night doesn’t matter.”
“Maybe to you.”
“What happened before it does.”
“Let me go.” I try and rip myself away and his hold only tightens.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then fucking stop it,” he snaps. “Stop.”
I still myself in his grip, my eyes narrowing when his lips curl up in a smirk, pride shining in his eyes. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
He presses down on me so his body lines up with mine. I’m bent backward on his window, my head resting on the top of the car. His lips are so close and it’s all I can do to fight the pull, but my memories of that night make it easier.
“What in the hell is wrong with you?”
“You,” he darts his tongue out and licks along my bottom lip. My breath catches as he presses his length along my stomach. “You’re what’s wrong with everything, and now ...” he shakes his head, “you can’t come between us.”
“Oh, but I did come between you,” I snark. “Twice.”
“Fucking stop it,” he snaps. “I’m trying to explain.”
“With more cryptic bullshit, and I’m over it. You can talk to me when you have something real to say. Even then, I won’t listen. I’m done. Get. Off. Of. Me.”
He grips my head and slams his mouth over mine and I fight—I fight against his kiss, my mouth opening to object as he slips his tongue in. Sparks ignite in my chest as he deepens it to the point I can’t think past our night on the hood of his car, or the day at the lake, or any other day of life before him. I rip at his hair, at his chest and neck as he brands me with his mouth, and the violent thrash of his tongue. My emotions go from anger to utter devastation as he pushes every feeling I’m fighting to the surface. He pulls away and presses a soft kiss to my mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s the only real thing I can give you.”
“Why?” I cry out, breathless. “Why?”
“We were trying to make a point, and we fucking failed miserably.”
“You ruined everything,” I’m unable to keep a lone tear from slipping. “I’ll never look at you the same.”
