He’d marked me.
Gravity seemed to disappear all of a sudden, and a prickling heat started simmering in my belly.
Reese had left an imprint of himself on my skin, and I…
Oh, fuck, I wanted more. I wanted him to leave traces of himself all over my body. I wanted to be reminded of him—of how he’d given me all his attention—every time I looked at myself.
I took my shirt off and stared at myself in the mirror for god knew how long, coveting that little piece of himself that Reese had left behind.
The undeniable evidence that, even if just for a moment, he’d wanted me.
He was like a wounded animal, aggressive and guarded, and I wanted so badly for him to understand that I wasn’t here to hurt him.
I just wanted to help, but I didn’t know how to get him to see that.
That was a mistake.
I was fine with being his mistake if it meant some part of me washis, no matter how wrong.
What the fuck was I going to say to him when he came out of the bathroom?Sorry you got me off but that was amazing and please can I have some more?
“So stupid,” I muttered, throwing my arm over my eyes. I wanted a fucking cigarette, but I’d smoked my last one a few days ago and deliberately didn’t buy another pack because I was trying to quit.
I wished I knew what was happening inside that head of his. It was starting to feel impossible to penetrate his defenses, whether I had dynamite, hedge trimmers, or a sharpened axe or not.
Well, what was thinking about it gonna do? Fucking nothing.
I opened my book and stared at the page, then set it facedown on my stomach.
But what if he was just scared? If that was the case, what was he scared of and how could I help him get over whatever fears he had? Was that even possible? I simply needed to get to know him better, right?
What did he like to do besides play the violin and glare at me? Did he like to read, too? Watch movies? Play chess? Did he have any siblings? What did his laugh sound like? Were his lips as soft as they looked?
Why had he transferred here? Val had mentioned something about a fight, but who knew what really happened. I should ask him about that. Maybe not today, though.
And what the hell was he doing in the bathroom? I strained my ears but didn’t hear a single thing. How long had he been in there? How long had I been back? Ten minutes? Twenty?
I listened for any kind of noise, but there was nothing. If he was taking a shower—which it didn’t smell like he was, the room usually filled up with the delicious scent of his body wash and I wasn’t smelling it at all right now—then he never spent more than a few minutes drying off and getting dressed. Besides, he’d showered earlier when I went to get food.
“Reese?” I called. I wasn’t sure I’d ever bothered him while he was in the bathroom before, and he didn’t respond.
Maybe he didn’t hear me.
I got up and walked to the door, then gently knocked. “Reese?”
Was he not even in the bathroom? Maybe he’d just dropped his things here and gone somewhere.
What if he’d tried to go back to that cemetery and gotten himself stuck again?
I turned and looked at the space under his bed where he usually put his shoes, and sure enough, both pairs he owned were there.
An uneasy, weighty apprehension prickled under my skin. I knocked louder.
“Look I know you’re not…happy about what happened, but can you answer me? Are you in there?”
Nothing.
“If you don’t respond, I’m coming in.”
