“One question at a time, yeah?” His voice was groggy and strained. He sounded like a man who hadn’t slept in years, like he wanted to bury himself in a corner and never move again.
I exhaled slowly as I picked one question. “How did you find me? This morning. And right now.”
“You really want to know?” he asked, and this time, his voice dipped into a sinful whisper, dragging along the rim of my sanity.
I nodded, staring at the row of books in front of me.
Suddenly, his hand moved from where it had been resting beside my hip, gliding around until it settled flat against my stomach. I sucked in a sharp breath, my body going tense under his hot touch.
He straightened behind me, towering, heat pressing against every inch of my back. And then his hand began to move.
From my navel, he dragged two long fingers upward, slow as molten honey, setting my nerves on fire in their wake.
Up.
And up.
Until he hovered an inch below my breasts.
I wet my lips before parting them. “Hey—”
“Shhh.”
I couldn’t breathe.
He kept going, dragging his fingers higher, slipping between my breasts with infuriating patience. He paused there—just for a second—before tracing a path to where my heart pounded.
When he reached the frantic thrum of it beneath my ribs, he began to circle it slowly.
“Your thoughts control your emotions, your emotions control your heartbeat,” he said softly, “and your heart leads me to wherever you are. That’s how I always find you.”
His finger circled continuously right above my heart in a cruel tease.
I clenched my jaw, trying to hold on to my unstable sanity. “Am I supposed to believe you can feel what I feel?” I asked, barely keeping my voice even.
“You believe I might kill you,” he said against my skin. “How is this harder to believe?”
I blinked.
He had no point. Murder was easy to believe because it could be carried out by any human. Even by a child. We were capable of it. But feeling someone’s emotions? That was absurd.
But then, he wasn’t totally human. I was yet to know what he was. I swallowed hard. “Fine. Then prove it. What do I feel right now?”
He didn’t speak.
Instead, his hand shifted.
One finger dipped down again, sliding with maddening grace to the centre of my breasts.
Then, like an unhinged man, he began to draw slow, hot circles around my right breast.
From the centre, he trailed a line with the heat of his finger to the top of my breast, then to the side, to under, and back to the centre. With each revolution, he spiralled inward, moving inch by inch closer to my nipple in a path that sent tremors licking up my spine.
My knees buckled, heat bloomed under my skin, sinking into my nerves and curling my toes in my boots.
Even though my bra and tank top were enough turn off and obstruction, I still couldn’t breathe. Air was a thin thread I clung to while my mind turned to static.
Each motion of his finger was wicked, and I realised he was fucking with me with his hot touch, not for pleasure, but for control.
