His eyes darken at the sound.
“You don’t get to weaponize my body too,” I manage, the protest weak even to my own ears.
His mouth curves. “You already did. You just haven’t accepted how much power that gives you.”
Lies.
Or the worst kind of truth.
The kind that feels like stepping off a cliff.
He dips his head.
His mouth brushes mine, not a kiss, exactly—just enough contact to send a lightning bolt through every nerve.
My knees threaten to give.
He feels it.
His hand slides to the back of my neck, steadying me, thumb rubbing that spot where the skull meets the spine.
“You started this war with a song,” he says against my lips. “You think I won’t answer in the only language you really listen to?”
I swallow hard.
Anger and desire swirl together until I can’t tell them apart.
“C
