I kiss my way back to her perfect mouth, warm and soft, and she whimpers when I tug her bottom lip between my teeth. “Yes, you do.”

“No,” she breathes out, a strangled sob, like she’s begging for it to not be true. Please don’t be true. “I can’t…”

“It’s okay,” I whisper, framing her head between my hands when she starts to twist from side to side, rejecting the very thought. “It’s okay.”

Cora yanks my face back down and our mouths crash together, teeth colliding, tongues hungry and violent. I grasp the side of her face, then force her jaw open by pushing my thumb between her teeth. She squeaks in surprise, and I take her mouth in mine, filling her with my tongue and tasting every inch of her. It’s sensual and erotic, and I can’t get enough. I’m fucking drowning.

She pulls back to catch her breath, crying out, as if she’s still trying to deny what seems abundantly clear. “This isn’t real,” she gasps, grazing her ankle up and down the back of my thigh. Her fingers are fisting my shirt sleeves with white knuckles, scared to let go.

“It’s real.” I kiss her forehead, then her nose, then her heart-shaped upper lip, as I intertwine our fingers and raise our hands above her head. I press our foreheads together, feeling the way our bodies meld so effortlessly. A perfect fit. I’m about to kiss her again, I’m about to lose myself to her mouth and tongue and glorious heat, when my eyes catch sight of her wrist peeking out of her long sleeve.

It’s been scratched raw, swollen and irritated, possibly infected.

Reality hits me like a bucket of ice water, and I grab her arm, cradling her wrist between my fingers and inspecting the damage. Cora tries to pull away, tries to erase what I’ve already seen, but I hold tight. “Corabelle, you’re hurting yourself.”

“Don’t…” she sighs, her voice hitching. Her tears inevitable. “I’m fine. It’s fine.”

“God, Cora.” I graze my thumb over the marred skin of her wrist, the exact spot I would massage beneath her cuffs to make her forget, then I bring it to my lips, trying to kiss away her pain. I pepper delicate kisses up and down the length of her arm, paying extra attention to the wound.

“Please don’t.” Cora tries to tug herself free and redirect my mouth to hers, but I don’t let her. She collapses against the wall with frustration. “Let me go, Dean.”

I close my eyes, kissing my way up to her fingertips. “Tell me you don’t hate me.”

“No.”

She moves to escape, but I pull her to me, pressing our foreheads together once more. “Tell me.”

Cora locks her eyes on mine, trembling in my grip. She shakes her head. “I do hate you.”

“Dammit, Cora.” I clench my jaw as my fingers curl around her upper arms, clinging to her. Begging for a different answer. “Please.”

“I…” She’s still looking me in the eyes when her breath catches and her face crumples. “I hate myself.”