Page 21 of Relapse

His hand slides up my throat gently, possessively, forcing my eyes back to his.

“After I told you not to go back to that shit,” he growls, voice rough against my mouth. “Told you those pills were gonna fucking ruin you.”

Heat flashes straight through me.

“Dagger—”

“No,” he cuts me off darkly, forehead pressing against mine for half a second. “Instead you come back here swallowing random shit from strangers trying to chase a high that was never gonna hit the same.”

The words land hard because underneath the anger, there’s guilt there too.

Ugly. Heavy. Real.

Like he knows he’s part of the reason I spiraled right back into it.

His eyes drag over my face slowly before dropping lower when my thighs tighten instinctively around him.

Of course he notices.

“There you go,” he mutters roughly, voice lowering another octave. “Knew your pretty body still remembered me, little relapse.”

The praise settles somewhere dangerous inside me while his grip flexes harder against my waist.

Heavy breathing fills the air, our bodies colliding in the wrecked kitchen while anger melts into something hotter. Messier. Relief and possession tangled together with every movement.

And somehow he still looks mad about wanting me this much.

Men are so fucking exhausting honestly.

I drag my nails down his arm, breath uneven while his forehead presses hard against mine.

“Okay,” I pant, still breathless enough that the sarcasm comes out a little shaky around the edges. “You need to pick a personality here.”

His brow furrows slightly.

“What?”

“You can’t spend months trying to erase yourselves from my life,” I mutter, heat coiling tighter every time his hips move against mine, “then suddenly act all possessive because I went looking for another high.”

His jaw tightens immediately.

“Blair—”

“No seriously,” I cut in, breath catching when his grip flexes harder against my waist. “Make up your mind. Do you want me gone and pretending none of this ever happened, or do you want me crawling back here every time my life implodes because apparently you think your dick is a medically approved coping mechanism?”

That almost breaks him.

I literally watch the irritation flicker across his face while he fights a laugh and loses.

Barely.

“So fucking mouthy,” he mutters darkly.

“I’m making valid points.”

“You’re talking shit while I’m inside you.”

“Multitasking.”