Eden

The insult doesn’t seem to bother him. “And you’re a bitch, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to fuck you senseless.”

I try to pull my chin from his grip, but his fingers tighten around me.

“Saint—”

“I went to see my mother,” he suddenly says, and I freeze. “And then I tried to figure out what to do with you.”

Okay, that’s weird as hell. And terrifying. I can vividly picture the way his mother looked at me the last time I saw her—like I was dog shit on the bottom of one of her Louboutin’s.

“You tried to figure out what to do with me with your mother?” I rasp. Of course, he doesn’t answer, so I try again. “And what exactly did you decide on?”

He still doesn’t answer me because he’s an insufferable asshole.

Instead, he says, “I’ve got track. You stay here and get some rest. You look like death.”

“Well, aren’t you just a witty—”

But his lips press hard against mine and he scrambles my brain, stealing away my insult. The kiss is brief and rough, but when he pulls away, I feel as dazed and lightheaded as I did before I ate and more confused than ever.

“Sleep,” he murmurs, releasing my chin at last. “I won’t be long.”