Page 17 of Relapse

A quiet laugh slips out of her.

“Nice?” she echoes. “Dagger, you dragged me in here caveman-style thirty seconds ago.”

“You liked it.”

“Maybe.”

Cocky little fucking addict.

I kiss her before she can say anything else.

Hard.

Messy.

The kind of kiss that feels more like an argument than affection.

She kisses me back instantly, fingers tangling into my shirt while I pin her harder against the counter, swallowing every smartass little sound she makes against my mouth.

Months.

Months of staying away from her.

Of watching her from a distance while pretending I wasn’t fucking addicted.

And now she’s here again, mouthing off in my apartment like she belongs here, like she knows exactly what she does to me.

Maybe she fucking does.

My grip shifts from her throat to her jaw, forcing her head back slightly while I kiss down her neck hard enough to leave marks.

“You should’ve stayed gone,” I mutter against her skin.

“Yeah?” she breathes, fingers tightening in my shirt. “You keep saying that while touching me like this. Kinda mixed messaging.”

I bite down lightly beneath her ear.

She laughs softly through the breath it knocks out of her.

God.

Everything about her feels addictive.

The attitude. The chaos. The way she pushes until I break and then looks proud of herself for it afterward.

“You’re trouble,” I mutter.

“You say that like it’s new information.”

My hand slides up her thigh, dragging her closer against me while her head tips back against the cabinets behind her.

And somewhere beneath the tension, the heat, and all the unresolved shit twisting between us, one ugly truth settles hard in my chest.

I keep giving her hell for relapsing while doing the exact same fucking thing myself.

Because the second Blair walked back into my life, I fell right back into her like I never even tried to quit.

Chapter six