Much gasped at the sudden shock of pain, and lashed out to grab her wrist to stop her doing it again. His eyes blazed at her and the second her other hand moved, he grabbed it too, clamping both his hands around her narrow wrists like shackles.
He should have said; I'm not a killer anymore. He could have told her that she didn't know what she was talking about, could have protested, could have bargained, or beg or— anything, but he didn't. It was only later, after it was over, than all of these options became options.
No, instead, Much growled "fuck you" again, shoving her back against the wall to shut her up with another kiss, and hated himself for how good it felt, how wrong it felt (but she deserved it!) but how powerful. Every inch of his body where it was shoved up hard against hers was on fire, burning in a way Much did not want to stop.