Page 153 of Break Away
His eyes snapped toward mine at the sound of his name, the reaction violent enough to feel physical, a shock wave through the charged air. “Don’t.”
I smiled because I had finally found the bruise, the tender spot, and I pressed. “What, now your name is off-limits too?”
“My name was never the problem.”
“Then what was?”
“You saying it like you wanted me, then treating me like I was nothing.”
“I never said you were nothing.”
“You didn’t have to.”
I hit him then, not hard enough to hurt anything except the air between us, both palms striking his chest because I needed him back, away, closer—something. He winced when the movement jarred his ribs, and I hated that I noticed. Hated that my hands wanted to soften at the same time my mouth wanted to draw blood.
“You arrogant asshole.”
He caught both my wrists in his good hand and pinned them against his chest, forcing me to feel how hard his heart was pounding, a frantic, furious rhythm beneath my palms. His bandaged hand remained curled at his side.
“Say it louder,” he said. “The neighbors haven’t heard enough tonight.”
“I hate you.”
His smile was vicious, all sharp edges and no warmth. “No, you don’t.”
I pulled against his hold, a useless struggle. “Don’t tell me what I feel.”
“Then stop making it so obvious.”
The first shove came from me. The first step forward came from him.
My back struck the counter, and his body crowded mine so quickly the breath tore from me. He still held both wrists in his good hand, his grip careful enough not to bruise and firm enough to make escape something I would have to choose. I looked at his mouth. He looked at mine. His bandaged hand flexed at his side, and the sight of my careful work wrapped over the damage he had done for me made something inside my stomach turn hot and reckless.
“Tell me to back off, Clarke,” he said, every word scraped raw with a restraint he clearly hated. “Say it like you mean it.”
I leaned upward until my mouth almost brushed his, close enough to feel his breath and make the vein in his neck jump. “Make me mean it.”
He stared at me for one brutal second, his eyes searching mine, and then whatever thin, furious line still existed between us burned straight through—
16
Aura
His good hand released my wrists and braced against the counter beside my hip, while the other, wrapped in fresh gauze, hung at his side. His body stayed locked around mine without touching enough to count as mercy. Easton looked at me like he wanted to tear the truth out of my mouth with his teeth and punish me for making him want anything at all.
“Make you mean it?” he repeated, the words flat and sharp as shattered glass. “That’s your move?”
“My move was cleaning your hand, but you had to make that unbearable too.”
“You came into my apartment.”
“You let me.”
“You shoved your way in.”
“You stood in the doorway like a tragic blond bouncer and dared me to move you.”
His eyes narrowed, and that pale gray stare went hot enough to make the tiny kitchen feel airless, like the oxygen was burning up between us. “You think this is funny?”
