The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 85

Sloane fought back wildly, but Garrison had her hands securely pinned above her head, their fingers tangled together, leaving her completely immobilized.

"Let me go!"

"Oh, let you go?" Garrison growled. "Tell me, Sloane, tell me right now—if you didn't love me, why did you mess with me in the first place? Why did you marry me? Why did you make me..."

He couldn't finish the sentence.

The next second, he leaned down and crashed his mouth against hers.

It wasn't a kiss; it was an act of raw possession. It tasted of sharp alcohol, completely chaotic and brutal, fueled by weeks of repressed frustration.

Sloane thrashed her head from side to side, but his large hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers weaving through her damp hair to hold her firmly in place.

"Mm—!"

Her hands pressed against his chest, her nails digging into his skin.

Garrison refused to yield.

His lips devoured hers with feverish heat, clinging to her like a drowning man grasping a lifeline, desperate to consume her entirely.

Her neck arched backward against the cold plaster while his burning body pressed heavily against her front. Caught between fire and ice, she struggled helplessly like a trapped swan.

"Garrison... you're insane!"

Sloane gasped, her voice fractured.

He finally broke the kiss, only to drag his teeth across her lower lip—a harsh, punishing graze that felt like a desperate plea for reassurance.

"Yeah, I'm out of my mind..." he panted against her forehead. Their noses touched, breaths mingling in a heady rush of liquor and warmth.

"I've been out of my mind for a long time! Ever since the day I agreed to marry you, I lost it!"

His hand slid from her hair to encircle her throat. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his grip and his thumb resting against her jaw forced her to tilt her head up and meet his gaze.

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