His head tilted forward; he pressed his forehead to mine. Our lips were a few centimeters apart. He smelled of cigarettes and expensive whiskey. “You want me to ruin your life.” It sounded like he felt sorry for me. He reached out and grabbed my neck, pressing so hard that my adrenaline level jumped. I like it. I raised my head, provoking him to squeeze harder. “As if you could do it,” I teased. “Yes.” With ease. He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Keep playing, sis, and I’ll give you the nine inches of heartache you’re asking for.” “It was a warning that I later regretted because I didn’t listen.” He ran his thumb over my lips, then his hand dropped to my hips. This is not a fairytale love story - this is a fucking life story. May contain triggers.