Shatter-Me-PDF-Shatter-Me-Series-Shatter-Me-Shatter-Me-1-Tahereh-Mafi (1)

the feel of a weapon in your hand. You’re . . . attracted to
me.”
I try to swing my fist but he catches my arms. Pins them to
my sides. Presses me up against the wall. He’s so much
stronger than he looks. “Don’t lie to yourself, Juliette. You’re
going to come back with me whether you like it or not. But
you can choose to want it. You can choose to enjoy it—”
“I will never,” I breathe, broken. “You’re sick—you’re a
sick, twisted monster—”
“That’s not the right answer,” he says, and seems
genuinely disappointed.
“It’s the only answer you’ll ever get from me.”
His lips come too close. “But I love you.”
“No you don’t.”
His eyes close. He leans his forehead against mine. “You
have no idea what you do to me.”
“I hate you.”
He shakes his head very slowly. Dips down. His nose
brushes the nape of my neck and I stifle a horrified shiver
that he misunderstands. His lips touch my skin and I
actually whimper. “God I’d love to just take a bite out of
you.”
I notice the gleam of silver in his inside jacket pocket.
I feel a thrill of hope. A thrill of horror. Brace myself for
what I need to do. Spend a moment mourning the loss of my
dignity.
And I relax.
He feels the tension seep out of my limbs and responds in
turn. He smiles, loosens his clamp on my shoulders. Slips his
arms around my waist. I swallow the vomit threatening to
give me away.
His military jacket has a million buttons and I wonder how
many I’ll have to undo before I can get my hands on the
gun. His hands are exploring my body, slipping down my
back to feel the form of my figure and it’s all I can do to
keep from doing something reckless. I’m not skilled enough