"I was a cop," he murmured, his other hand slipping around my waist, pulling me closer. Was.
I was still; slowly drawing circles over his taut torso. His grip on me tightened, his breath warm against my ear.
"They framed me for a murder I didn’t commit," he rasped. "A convict died in my custody. Someone made sure the blame fell on me."
I exhaled sharply. The gun. The bullets. It all made sense now.
"So.. You’re.. running... Hmm.." I whispered. I followed the line of his throat with my finger, feeling the pulse beneath.
My thumb lingered on his lower lips. He leaned in. His teeth grazed my jaw. "And you should be afraid of me."
My fingers dug into his shoulders. I let out a chuckle. "But, I’m not”, I admitted.
"You should be," he murmured before he kissed me.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet. It felt raw. Possessive. Desperate. Like a man starved for touch. Like a man who knew he didn’t have the luxury of tenderness. His hands felt my sides, the way my body curved. And stopped. He broke the kiss. There was confusion in his eyes. The moment he saw the fresh bruises and an old scar from a gunshot wound on me, everything in him went kaput.
A cop’s instinct was a curse—it never let you unsee what was right in front of you.
His grip on my wrists tightened, pulled me out of the bed and pressed me against the cold wall, his body caging me in.
Oh, here we go again.
“Who the fuck are you?” His voice was suspicious. He towered over me, his breath hot against my ear.
I blinked up at him, all wide-eyed, playing the role I’d perfected over and over again. “Just a woman in trouble.”
“Bullshit.” He yanked my arms higher above the head, forcing me to arch against him. His fingers trailed down the side, grazing the scar with something almost like reverence. “This wasn’t an accident.”
I gasped; I wasn't sure whether it was from the pain or the way his knee pushed between my thighs. He bit his lips. “You’re no fucking damsel.”
I smirked, my hips rolling slightly against his thigh. “And you’re no fucking cop anymore.”
The snarl on his lips was immediate, and before I could react, he bit my lower lip—hard—just enough to sting, enough to make me pant. His teeth dragged to my jaw, and ear, his tongue flicking against the ear shell before he bit again, this time at the nape of my neck. I shuddered, but not in fear.
“Tell me who you are,” he growled.
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