Those angry tears had finally formed at the corners of her eyes as he kissed her back with the right intensity, the darkness seeping through between her pain and her joy. She finally believed he only loved her and she had to erase any memory of that woman from her own mind. Abi reclaimed what was rightfully hers and kissed and bit at Hemingway’s lips. Her own anger being taken out on them both in equal measure, how rough she needed it. Scrub her away, bleach out the memory and stop it ever bleeding into their relationship ever again.
“I fucking love you,” she growled animalistically against his mouth, ripping open his dress shirt. Buttons flew everywhere around their feet and she kissed him again. There was no way she could ever give him up, not when he had ingratiated himself that deeply into her life and her body. She couldn’t not love him; it was a fucking impossibility. She felt the letters scrunch beneath her toes and couldn’t stand the sound.
Abi dragged him instead, getting her feet off her own letters to him and back onto the carpet. Her lips were raw and swollen but she was sure they were nothing compared to his. Abi had to punish him for hurting her, just as sure as she was that he was the one punishing her right back for falling in love with him.
“You ever hurt me again, hurt any part of me, I swear to God that will be it for us, Hemingway,” she promised with fire in her eyes. “I am not fucking joking. No other women, no love notes from ex-wives, ex-girlfriends, no letters to Greta fucking Garbo…” she reached up and tugged his hair. “It’s all or nothing, understand me? I am yours but you are mine as well, body, heart and soul.”