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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I know I said I have control. I know I said Han was mine.
But is Han mine? Or am I his?
The thought alone makes my jaw tighten, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. No. I'm not Han's. I don't belong to him. This is bullshit. He can't act like he's the one pulling the strings, like he's in control of this twisted game we play, and expect me to fold.
Even though I just did.
Fuck.
I drag a hand through my hair, pacing the length of the hall like a caged animal. My body is still on fire from that kiss—still reeling from the way he had me pinned against my own car, taking exactly what he wanted without hesitation. Like he had a goddamn right to. Like I was his to claim.
And I let him.
I let him press his body against mine, let him taste me like he fucking owned me.
God, I hate him.
And yet... the second he walked away, the second he had the audacity to smirk and flip me off like none of it mattered, I realized something I can't fucking ignore.
I need more.
I need to know what the hell this is.
Because I can't think. I can't sleep. I can't even breathe without feeling his lips on mine, without replaying the way his hands gripped me like he was fighting not to lose control.
After our fight, I thought it was over. I thought he wanted nothing to do with me. I was ready to chalk it up to another battle in our endless war and move the fuck on. But now? Now I'm confused.
Does he want me?
Or does he just want to destroy me?
I'm a straightforward person. I don't do uncertainty. And I sure as hell don't let people get into my head.
But Han is under my skin.
And I can't deal with it.
I need to fix my head before I fucking explode.
So here I am.
Standing in front of his apartment, fist clenched, chest rising and falling too fast as I ring the doorbell.
The door swings open faster than I expect, and there he is.
Han.
Barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips, a loose black T-shirt that hangs off his frame like he threw it on just to answer the door. His hair is a mess—he was probably in bed, probably wasn't expecting me.
Good.
I want to catch him off guard for once.
His tired eyes flicker with something unreadable before narrowing, his grip on the door tightening. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."
