Eat you Alive

"Hate what?" She asked, feigning ignorance. Instead of answering, Quinn pulled her closer, his grip firm around her waist, securing her against him. 

"What are you doing? I need to tend to your wounds," she exclaimed, her eyes widening as her heart raced. Their proximity was overwhelming, her chest pressed against his, their faces so close she could see the intricate patterns in his pupils. 

It was only now she noticed the faint trace of gold in his eyes, an unusual detail that made him impossibly alluring. 

"I hate…" he began, his breath brushing against her face. Belle's gaze betrayed her, falling to his lips. They were pink and inviting, and before she realized it, she swallowed hard, imagining their taste—imagining *him* on her lips once more. 

"I hate that you touch another man. These hands," he picked up her right hand, his tone possessive, "are mine and mine alone."