Her tirade did little more than make him feel smug. It was a sure sign that he'd gotten under her skin, which was sort of the point. The two of them had been antagonizing each other on that evening when they'd been forced to share a bedroom, and what had followed had erupted rather spontaneously from the middle of the mire of their malcontent. If he kept needling at her throughout the course of the night, he was sure he could rile her enough to provoke the same response — assuming it was even possible to do so and that night at his uncle's home hadn't just been a one-time fluke. If that was the case, though, he had nothing to lose by getting her angry; it wasn't as though she could do anything to him, practically speaking, and the sort of sex he was interested in would have been off the table already, with or without his interference.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he taunted quietly, as he released her wrist. He didn't need to follow her; they were both going to end up in the same place at the end of the night. He'd see to that.
"Whatever you need to tell yourself," he taunted quietly, as he released her wrist. He didn't need to follow her; they were both going to end up in the same place at the end of the night. He'd see to that.
