“Go on, kill me,” I spat with what little air I had left. “It doesn’t change a goddamn thing about either of us.” Breathing hard, his fingers tightened. I was convinced he was going to do it — he was finally going to kill me. With one quick jerk, he pulled me forward. My mouth crashed against his, teeth and tongues colliding. I wasn’t kissing him so much as being kissed, with anger and need and desperation. The hand on my throat slipped around to the back, threading through my hair to cradle the back of my head.
