She scowls, shoves a piece in her mouth, and then chews with deliberate malice. I watch her tongue work, her lips parting just slightly as she swallows. Every little thing she does is erotic, even when it's meant to be hostile.
When she finishes half the steak, she tosses the fork onto her plate and leans back, eyes half-lidded from the wine.
"Happy?" she asks.
"Ecstatic."
She rolls her eyes. "You're so full of shit."
"Maybe, but I'm still happy."
She shifts in her seat, uncrosses her legs, and lets the hem of her dress ride up a few inches. She's not wearing panties. I know, because I took them before we left her apartment.
She was mad as hell about it.
I reach across the aisle and slide my hand up her thigh.
She slaps my wrist. "Don't."
"Why not?"
"Because," she says, her voice suddenly small. "Because I want to be mad at you for being a fucking psycho today, and you're making it impossible."
My heart does something I don't recognize. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe it's hope. I don't know, so I ignore it.
I rest my palm on her knee, not moving higher. "You don't have to forgive me, Brielle. You just have to let me have you."
She's silent for a beat, then another. "I never had a chance, did I?"
"No," I say, rising to slide into the seat next to hers. "You never did."
She eyes me warily. "What are you doing?"
I lean in, close enough that I can smell her. She covered the marks I left on her with makeup, hiding them. But she can't hide the way I smell on her skin. My scent is all over her. "Just making sure you're real."
She shakes her head. "Has a hallucination ever wanted to stab you before, Asher?"
"No," I say, brushing her hair behind her ear. "But sometimes, you look too good to be true. I have to touch you, just to remind myself that you're here with me."
She shivers, her expression softening slightly, and lets my fingers drift down her neck to her collarbone.
"Why me?" she asks, barely more than a whisper, but I can tell that she really wants to know.
I don't answer because the truth would terrify her. Because she's the only thing that ever made me feel anything real, because she's the only person I can't control, because she's the only one who ever made me want to try.
"You know why," I say instead.
She closes her eyes. "I should have run when I had the chance."
"But you didn't," I remind her.
She pops her eyes open and stares at me, searching for something. "No," she finally agrees. "I never do." She swallows hard, her throat working. "I never even wanted to run."
Jesus.
I kiss her, soft and slow. For the first time, I'm not trying to prove anything or win. I just want to feel her, to see if maybe she can heal what's broken in me.
She lets me kiss her, lets me hold her. She even lets me slip my hand between her legs. Like usual, she's already soaked for me.
