Dead still.
Like a rabbit realising the wolf isn’t bluffing.
“You don’t even know me,” she whispers.
I dip my head lower, brushing my mouth near her ear but not touching.
Not yet.
“That’s the fun part.”
“You think this is a game?”
I laugh, and it’s not nice.
It’s not soft.
It’s rough and cold and full of the things no one’s supposed to know I’ve done.
“No, butterfly,” I whisper darkly.
“Games have rules. I don’t.”
She shivers.
And, fuck, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, finally letting my fingers graze her wrist.
Just a touch.
Just enough to feel her pulse kick.
“You shouldn’t be here either.”
“Difference is…” I lean in. “I know exactly what kind of place this is.”
“And I don’t?”
I arch a brow. “Do you?”
She opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Doesn’t answer.
I smirk.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
She looks up at me then, really looks—eyes like liquid defiance, lips parted like she wants to say something cutting and ruinous but can’t find the words.
“You’re an asshole,” she mutters instead.
I chuckle again, softer this time. “Takes one to know one.”
“Touché.”
