I rip her blouse at the seams. “Say it again.”
“I hate you,” she hisses as I bite into her neck, half-pleasure, half-pain. As I hoist her up and press her naked back against the cold glass, tearing the rest of her clothes right off her body. “I hate you, I hate you, I—ahh!”
I plunge my fingers into her, making her scream.
It’s barely even s*x: it’s too brutal to be called that. It’s a fight by a different name. It’s nothing like we’ve ever done before, and at the same time, it’s exactly what I’ve been craving all along.
Because the truth is, I could’ve never stayed away.
“I hate you,” I snarl in return, knuckles-deep inside her. “I hate you, April Flowers.”
I bite into her full breasts without a single thought for how tender they must be, how sore after nursing day in, day out. April
