The moment I closed the door of my apartment, Luther pressed his body close to mine without sparing any space between us and trapped me with both of his hands placed in between my shoulders.
“Why are you with him?” he asked gruffly, his breath fanning my face. It was too distracting, everything was. “Did he take you home? What did he do to you in his car? And why are you holding his f*cking hand?” He, then, harshly grabbed my head and raised it upward. “Tell me,” he commanded in a dangerously low tone, his fingers digging painfully into my cheeks.
“Luther, stop,” I said as gently as I could while rubbing his arms.
Slowly, his grip on my face loosened up as his head hang low. Then, he stepped as far away as possible from me, allowing me to breathe and move freely. “Explain now,” he mutte
