“I hate you,” I manage to whisper, watching him stalk toward the wide-open doors. He grinds to a halt the moment the words slip off my tongue. A small, humorless smile curls his lips into something almost painful to witness—a wicked sharpness that reminds me I don’t know this male despite all the years we’ve lived under the same roof. All the droplets of myself I’ve shared with him. “Oh, precious,” he says, surveying down, then back up the lines of my body still pinned to the wall by his phantom touch. “You don’t even know the meaning of the word.” And then he’s gone.
