Page 135 of Property of Fang
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what, Freckles?”
“Act like you care.”
I look to the side, equally as frustrated by my lack of commitment to either feeling: empathy or apathy. Why do I care? Why do I care when she frustrates me so goddamn much? When she’s the embodiment of everything I shouldn’t want.
Why do I want nothing else but to take her upstairs and hold her all night, reassuring her things will change? How fucking hypocritical is that when I’m the main reason they don’t?
Jenna takes a step back to retrieve her drink.
I catch her by the arm without a second thought.
Her heated glare snaps to my hand, and then my face. “Let me go.”
“No.”
She jerks her arm.
I hold fast.
“Fang…”
Using her other hand, she attempts to push mine off.
I pull her closer.
“Let me go. Now.”
“Why do you test me?” I ask, wrapping my arm around her to keep her pinned against my front, other hand still tight on her arm. “Why did you pick me to do this to?”
“Do what to?” she snaps. “What exactly have I done now? Existed? Breathed?”
“Made yourself at home under my fucking skin,” I murmur, leaning in close. “Even when you’re not welcome.”
“Sounds like a you problem,” she whispers, words hitting my face in gentle minty gusts.
“Never said it wasn’t.”
Her chest pushes against mine in an increasing pace, her breaths quickening with each moment that passes. Neither of us look away. “Don’t you dare do this again.”
“Do what?”
Her body presses hard against the cage of my arm. “Make me your whore.”
My fucking dick twitches at the thought. Not of her being a whore, but the vision of her giving herself over to me. “Last time I checked, you weren’t getting paid.”
“Last time I checked,” she sasses, “neither was Jezabel.”
Checkmate.
“What are we doing here, Fang?”
I shrug. “You tell me.”
Jenna swallows, ink warping with the roll of her skin.
I don’t know what to say to her next; I just know I’m not ready to let go. To break apart whatever we’ve started here. I might never get it again.
