Destroyed(30)

But he didn’t take advantage.

Slow and soft and coaxing.

It was the best kiss I’d ever received, but also the worst. It sparked lust and need in every inch of me. My lips wanted more, my tongue wanted savagery. My skin wanted to bruise because he needed to touch me so badly.

All my thoughts disappeared as I nipped at his bottom lip. He flinched, but a second later he copied, his sharp canines piercing my oversensitive flesh.

I moaned.

I couldn’t take it.

My hands flew up and gripped his shirt. Yanking him toward me, fireworks whizzed in my fingertips; my heart galloped toward exploding with lust. I’d never been so drunk on someone before.

Then I landed flat on my back.

The crack of my skull jangled my teeth. The thick carpet did little to cushion me. My eyes flared wide and I grunted in pain. Fear, hot and terrible, swamped my lust in a dampening wave.

“Top rule. Unbreakable rule. Don’t. Ever. Touch. Me.” Fox kneeled on one knee beside my head, breathing hard. His hand noosed my throat, pressing my spine into the carpet. His eyes were cold and lifeless, looking like a hunter intent on blood.

I gasped, struggling to breathe. I couldn’t unfog my brain.

“Never touch me.” His hands tightened, crushing my windpipe.

He’s going to kill me.

Hot terror erupted and I scratched at his grip. Scratching, prying, trying to unlock his incredibly strong fingers. Clara flashed in my mind, bringing hot tears to my eyes.

He bent further, squeezing harder. “What did I just say?”

I thrashed, needing air. My eyes felt too big for my sockets; my ears roared with blood. I need to breathe!

My thoughts were scrambled, but one thought trumpeted: Don’t touch him.

Stop touching him!

It took all my strength to obey. Every instinct boycotted when I forced myself to let go—to allow him to willingly strangle me.

Dropping my hands to my sides, I locked my elbows, keeping them dead straight. I shuddered uncontrollably, battling the instinct to fight back.

Only once I’d gone completely still, with no threat of touching him, did he unlock his fingers and stand. The instant he let me go, I rolled onto my side and hacked and choked, dragging oxygen into greedy lungs.

He stood staring, his face black and terrifying.

I thought I knew what I agreed to, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t factored in his volatile mental state. He was more than just an *. He was unhinged—deranged—and every agreement we’d made seemed incredibly idiotic.

He groaned under his breath, sounding like a wounded animal before dragging hands over his face. He paced away, stalking from one end of the room to the other.

By the fifth or six lungful of air, I sat up. But I was too afraid to stand. I liked being down here, away from his murdering fingers.

Fox prowled, muttering under his breath. His eyes flashed from deadly to contrite to weary. Stopping behind his desk, he snarled, “I didn’t mean to do that.” His fists opened and closed with unspent energy. “You provoked me. At least now you know what happens. Don’t disobey me. Next time, I might not have the strength to stop.”

His mouth tightened into a grimace. Anger rolled off him, buffeting me across the small distance between us. My heart raced, and I couldn’t look away. He entrapped me with his stare, wreaking havoc on my emotions.

I flushed, dropping my gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Nervously I climbed to my feet, kicking off the stupid heels to stand barefoot on the silky strands of the carpet. Better to run. Better to flee. “I didn’t mean to disobey.”

I wanted to curse him for hurting me rather than apologise, but his remorse was real. It echoed in the room, vibrating in his muscles. He watched me warily as if I’d run at any moment. It was his fault for kissing me so sweetly, so gently. For a man who wore violence as his true identity, my mind couldn’t come to terms with how softly he’d kissed me.

Running a shaky finger over my bottom lip, I tried to forget. Tried to ignore the awkwardness, the strange determination, and sweet eagerness that’d been on his tongue. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that it’d been his first kiss.

Testing, learning, figuring out how to do it.

My eyes widened, staring at Fox. The concept of him never kissing anyone seemed completely absurd. This male didn’t kiss. He plundered and took.

So why did I kiss a completely different man than the one standing in front of me?

Once again my heart popped with little bubbles of despair. The tenderness of a motherly instinct rose quickly. I wanted to tear through his inner turmoil and give him a person to confess to, lend an ear and nod in concern—to share his burden.

Because he was burdened. Heavily.

His gruffness and scar didn’t scare me. He spun a lie and the stench of untruths never worked on me.

Flashes of emotion appeared in his eyes.

My heart raced, bashing against my ribs. Taking a careful step forward, ignoring the bruising around my neck, I asked, “Are you alright?”

His eyes popped wide and he laughed. “You’re asking if I’m alright? Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

I shrugged. “We all have triggers. I believe you when you said you didn’t mean to hurt me.”

He froze, staring as if I confused the hell out of him. “If we all have triggers, you must have one. What’s yours?” His voice stayed deceptively quiet.