He groans into my mouth, and I use that moment to push back, trying to take control again. But Han is stronger than he looks, and for once, he's not letting me win.
"Frustrated?" he murmurs between kisses, smirking against my lips.
I bite at his jaw...
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It's almost laughable how easily Han gives in now. I don't know when exactly it started, this shift in his resolve, but it's hard to ignore how his defenses crumble the moment I push. He used to be so impenetrable, his armor forged of pure disdain and confidence that no one could touch. Not me, not anyone. Yet here he is, sitting stiffly in the passenger seat of my car, his entire body screaming tension while he pretends I'm not unraveling him inch by inch.
It wasn't always this simple. Back then, breaking through that shell felt like trying to crack stone with my bare hands. I'd chip away at him with taunts and smirks, only to have him throw it all back at me with twice the venom. But now? Now, it's like he's caught in his own trap, unsure whether to fight me off or let me drag him further into the fire.
I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He's glaring out the window, jaw tight, his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap like he doesn't know what to do with them. His silence is deafening, but I can feel the weight of his thoughts, the way they churn and boil just beneath the surface.
Why is he letting me do this? He has to know. He has to know that "talking" is the last thing I have in mind. Yet he's here, isn't he? Sitting in my car, playing along with my game. Maybe he thinks he has control. Maybe he thinks he's humoring me. Or maybe—just maybe—he's as caught up in this twisted dynamic as I am.
Not that it matters. He can rationalize it however he wants, but we both know the truth. This is my move, and he's playing on my board now.
I rest my elbow against the center console, turning my head slightly to watch him. His discomfort is palpable, and it's like music to my ears. He's trying so hard to keep his composure, to act like he's above this, but every stiff movement, every flicker of unease gives him away.
"Relax," I say, my voice low and teasing as I lean back in my seat. The word is deliberate, a challenge wrapped in faux concern, and it has the exact effect I want.
Han stiffens even more, his hands finally stilling as they grip his knees. His glare shifts to me, sharp and deadly, but I can see the way his lips press together to keep from snapping. The tension radiating off him is almost tangible, and it coils in the small space between us, thick and suffocating.
"Relax?" he finally spits, his tone laced with incredulity and contempt. I can practically hear the echo of his thoughts. Relax? In this situation? With you?
I chuckle, letting the sound roll out slow and deliberate, just to piss him off further. "What?" I ask, feigning innocence as I meet his gaze. "It's not like I'm going to hurt you." I let the word hang in the air, smirking as his glare hardens.
"You're insane," he says flatly, his voice cold and unyielding, like he's trying to keep himself from showing any other emotion. But his eyes give him away. That simmering anger, the frustration, the confusion—it's all there, swirling beneath the surface.
