Page 75 of Kill Feed

His eyes drop for a brief second to my mouth.

It’s subtle, but I watch the way his throat works, the swallow he doesn’t hide fast enough before he drags his gaze away again, snapping it back up to meet mine like that moment never happened.

I push off the couch. “You’re very… attentive,” I say, voice quieter now, edged with something that wasn’t there before. “For someone who tried so hard to claim me.”

He scoffs, barely moving, barely reacting. “Keep dreaming, asshole,” he says flatly. “I want nothing to do with you.”

I stop a few steps away from him. Close enough to feel the tension sitting in his body, coiled tight underneath the surface.

“Hm, I can’t tell,” I murmur mockingly. “Am I not allowed to visit my boyfriend?” I continue, almost closing the gap between us, and the reaction is immediate.

“I’m not your fucking boyfriend.”

I hum softly. “You didn’t seem too opposed the other day,” I say lightly. “Didn’t really correct me, either.”

“I had better things to deal with,” he shoots back, tone clipped. “Like you making a scene.”

I huff a quiet laugh.

“Please,” I scoff. “You don’t care about making a scene. You just hate not being the one controlling it.”

And I am dining on the way his grip tightens around the metal, the way his stance falters ever so slightly at every word that comes out of my mouth.

“You don’t get to decide things like that,” he says, voice dripping with something sharper. “You don’t get to just walk in and, what, label me?”

“I didn’t label you,” I proclaim. “I claimed you.”

“You don’t get to fucking do that either,” he states, but it doesn’t land the way he wants it to. His voice doesn’t carry nearly the same certainty.

“Then why,” I step just a little closer into his space, “are you still just standing here?”

My gaze drops briefly to his mouth, then back up to his eyes. “If you don’t want me here, make me leave.”

Adrian’s grip tightens around the weapon before metal flashes up between us with precise aim. I catch his wrist before it connects. My hand wraps around it, stopping him mid-strike, and the force of it brings us closer instead of apart.

“That’s twice now,” I murmur, glancing at his hand, then back at his eyes. “You try to mark me before I even get a chance to—”

He twists his wrist, trying to break free, and I let him—just enough to see what he does next. He tries to strike me again, and of course he fails. I’ve been playing this game for a very long time.

“See?” I tease, voice dropping. “This is what I like about you.”

He grits his teeth. “Shut up.”

“No,” I breathe, leaning in just enough that my mouth almost brushes his. “You don’t actually want me to.”

His pupils dilate as his breath catches, eyes shifting to something darker. Hot, molten malice melting over his face.

I let him sit in it.

Let him feel it.

Let him decide.

Because this is the part he hates most. When it’s not me taking control but when it’s him giving it up.

“Keep talking,” he says, voice edged and unstable, “and I’ll show you exactly how wrong you are.”

I grin. “Please fucking do… baby.”