To hurt like he’s hurt me.
I want him to feel the sting I’m inflicting on him because it’s the sting that hurt me the most for the longest time. The sting that is always there beneath the surface. A pain that exists and never fades. It’s worse than the shockwave of hurt you get when you’ve been broken. This sting is long-lasting. Always fucking there. Always existing to remind you that you’ve lost something pivotal, and you will forever feel vacant and dead.
Savage takes it.
He accepts my hurt, even pushes further into my fingers, allowing the cuts like he’s embracing the pain because he knows—he fucking knows why I’m putting them there.
My eyes blur, and I’m letting out a pained groan. I sound like a wounded animal, my mouth gaping wider as I growl and then scream—
His hand shoots to my throat and squeezes tightly, cutting me off. I still as he peers down at me, a hint of that past reflecting in his touch, and I’m suddenly there in its familiarity. He squeezes at my throat again, and I moan in approval before he drops his head suddenly and captures my mouth in a harsh, painful kiss that is filled with bite.
And now, now I’m fucking home.
He tears apart my lips, cutting through them with his teeth, making me bleed. Just as quickly, he laps at my lips, washing the blood away with his tongue as I shake in the thick arms he’s wrapped around me.
It’s a manic kiss.
Obsessive.
Possessive.
It’s the kiss you give to someone you want to bruise and soothe at the same time.
And I can’t think of another way that best describes my relationship to Hunter.
He pulls back abruptly, and I open my eyes to peer into his. His expression has cleared somewhat. I can detect the violence in him, but it’s suddenly outweighed with awe as he looks at me like he’s captured a ghost. For a second, I see a crack and the faintest sense of hope slips out of him.
On a whisper, he asks, “Did you come for me?”
Lips trembling, I answer, “No.”