His grip is hard, his touch demanding. He is rough with my body, like he’s desperate for these punishing touches. I melt under his fingertips, every inch of my skin aching for his attention.

“Devin.” I call his name on a breathy moan. He shoves me down onto my bed. I bounce off the mattress, stunned by his sudden ferocity.

He tilts his chin at me, his face cold as stone. “Take your clothes off,” he commands.

My mouth drops open. “What?” I ask, confused by his distance and hostility. He wants me. He can’t kiss me the way he does and not be desperate for me the same way I am for him. But something is wrong. It’s like I’m twisting a knife in his back every time he touches me.

He pulls his shirt off over his head, tossing it aside without a care. My eyes drink in his bare chest, tan and chiseled. I’m frantic to run my hands over his smooth skin.

“You heard me.” His voice is unforgiving as he rubs the growing bulge in his pants.

His intentions are clear. I want to make love. He wants to fuck. It’s a slice to my heart, but I’m ashamed to say I’ll take whatever he’ll give me. Pushing up to my knees on the bed, I keep his eyes focused on me as I unbutton my pants, teasing him and drawing out my time with him as much as possible.

“Condom?” he barks.

I bite my lip and point to my desk. “Bottom drawer.” I blow out a deep breath, sinking down onto my heels. Deflated, I drop my eyes to my lap.

There’s a loud rustling as he searches the drawer, followed by a stark silence. I snap my eyes to him. He’s holding up an old doll, staring at it like it has no place in a grown woman’s room. Because it doesn’t. It’s juvenile and silly, but it’s special to me.

“Still play with dolls?” he asks, his voice soft despite mocking me.

I shoot off the bed and snatch the Bratz doll out of his hands, shoving it into the drawer instead of returning her to her normal place, perched on the corner of my desk. I grab a condom, slap it into his bare chest and shut the drawer with a loud thud.

“No.” My answer is sharp as a razor, meant to slash at him the way he’s cut me. He clasps a hand over mine, curling it around my fingers and squeezing. His gaze burns into me, begging for an explanation. The sincerity there disarms me. I suck in a quick breath, worried I may not be able to take another under his piercing eyes.

“That’s Sasha. She has sentimental value. Where I go, she goes.”