No matter how hard I fought him, Ashton pushed through every bit of resistance I had, using that calm iron dominance that made arguing feel pointless. His instincts had taken fully over, and there was no reasoning with him when he got like that.
I dragged my nails down his chest and cursed through my teeth. "You're a bastard, Ashton!"
"Yes, I am," he said, without flinching.
He came at me like something that had gone too long without an anchor, hungry and unrestrained. I had the feeling he hadn't let himself get close to anyone in months, and now that wall had crumbled.
When it was over, he settled against the headboard and lit a cigarette. The dim light caught the scratch marks across his chest. A few had broken skin. I looked at them and felt no guilt.
