He kissed me, hard and punishing. Like he was trying to erase every word between us.
I should've pushed him away. I should've stopped him. But I can't seem to find the will. Instead, weak as I was, my fingers found his shirt, clutching onto the fabric like I needed something to hold onto before I shattered completely. He tasted of fury and longing, sharp enough to burn.
When he finally broke the kiss, his breath was ragged against my mouth. "You're right," he muttered, his hand still cupping my jaw, thumb grazing my lips. "I did regret not giving you a choice. But you should know this, Rosie, you would always choose me, even if I did."
I met his gaze, defiant even as my heart clenched. "You think you know everything about me, don't you?"
"Like it or not, I do," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "And I would bet everything I have, that you'd choose me if I pursued you like any normal man would. But then again, you don't do normal, do you?"
