He kissed her. Hard. Bruising. A panicked, frantic collision of mouth and anger and desperation. His lips crashed against hers with none of the old tenderness, just force—his teeth scraping, the taste of alcohol flooding her tongue.
It was not love. Not passion. Not anything but a man breaking apart and trying to drag her into the wreckage with him.
He kissed her again—hard, misaligned, frantic—catching the corner of her mouth this time, the edge of her lip stinging under the force. She tried to turn her face away, fighting him, feeling his breath scrape against her jaw. Her wrists twisted uselessly in his grip; his fingers only clamped down harder.
"Let me remind you," he murmured urgently against her skin, words hot and slurred. "You love me. You loved me. I just—just let me—"
