The Missing

scream it at him. Wished she could hit him and do something to ease the pain inside her.

    “Yes, you do,” he whispered, striding toward her. She brought her hands up, ready to punch him if he came any closer. Cullen was ready to risk it, apparently, because he just kept coming. She swung toward him, and he blocked the first punch. The second one caught him on the chin, but he still reached for her, pulling her up against him.

    Taige struggled, kicking at his shins. But her bare feet weren’t going to do much damage. She ended up with a sore foot, and that only made her madder. “Let go of me, damn it,” she snarled.

    “No. I did that once, and I’ve hated myself ever since,” he said, his voice calm and soft, gentle even. Taige leaned forward to bite him, and Cullen jerked back at the last second. Then he flipped her around in his arms, pressing her back up against his front and wrapping his arms around her in a bear hug that effectively pinned her in place.

    Seething, she reared back with her head, but he moved his out of reach and kept her from smashing his nose the way she planned. “You son of a bitch, you didn’t let go of me. You kicked me out of your life. There’s a big-ass difference, and you got no right doing this to me.”

    “Doing what?” he murmured. He nuzzled her neck. When she flinched and hunched her shoulder to keep him away, he just shifted his focus to her shoulder, kissing the skin bared by the thin straps of her shirt.

    Making me still love you. Making me still need you. The words leaped unbidden to her mind, and she almost blurted them out. She had a little bit of pride, though, and she managed to keep them behind her teeth. Barely. “Touching me like this. Talking to me like you give a damn. Any of it.”

    “You like me touching you,” he whispered. Slowly, his arms loosened, and the hands that had been restraining her left her arms to cup her hips. He pulled her back against him, and the feel of him through his jeans had her wanting to strip naked and beg him to touch her.

    But she didn’t have to beg. Even though she hated herself for being weak, when he slid one callused hand up her side to cup her breast, she groaned and arched into his touch. He squeezed her nipple, rolling the stiff peak between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it lightly. Cullen rested his chin on her shoulder, and together, they stared at the sight of his hand moving under the thin cotton of her shirt. “You like it when I touch you,” he repeated, and his voice was hoarse and rough. The sound of it sent shivers dancing down her spine. “And I do give a damn. If I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t keep coming to you.”

    If you cared about me, you never would have left me, she thought. But she didn’t say it. She was tired of fighting him. This was inevitable. He would touch her, and she would let him. He would strip her clothes away and she his. He’d make love to her and for a little while, she would pretend it was real and that he did love her, that he hadn’t ever left her.

    And when it was over, and she woke, she’d feel that much emptier inside, that much lonelier.

    His hands grabbed the bottom of her shirt, and she lifted her arms so he could pull it off. The shirt went flying. Gathering the thick mass of her hair in his hand, Cullen bared her neck. She shivered when he bent down and kissed her skin. Then he bit her gently, his teeth grazing her skin and leaving a burning, sizzling path. He spoke, and when he did, it was an eerie echo of one of the last things he’d ever said to her. He’d said it time and again in their dreams, almost as though he had to hear it.

    “Tell me that you love me, Taige,” he ordered gruffly as he slid his hands around and cupped both of her breasts. He teased the nipples, and each slow tug of his fingers sent need streaking through her, arrowing down and echoing low inside her belly. She squirmed and pressed her butt back against him.

    “I love you,” she murmured, parroting back the words he needed to hear, words that she had to say. If she didn’t need to keep saying them, would she keep having these pointless, painful dreams? She reached behind her and pressed her palms to his muscled thighs, her fingers clenching and digging into the worn material of his jeans so she could tug him closer.

    She felt him working the zipper of her shorts, and she bit her lip, holding her breath as he opened the faded denim and slid his hand inside