“It’s like you like being my own personal punching bag,” he says, almost softly, dipping just the tip of his finger under my shirt. “It’s like you want me to hurt you.” A chill skates up my spine, and I wish I could say it was from his touch. Thick lashes flutter as he blinks up at my face. “Is that it? Do you want me to hurt you?” I want you to love me.
