“He’s nothing.” Leaning down, I press a gentle kiss to her collarbone, aware that with every word, every kiss, every time I keep her in my presence, I’m just digging my grave deeper and deeper. But I can’t seem to stop.
Finally, her fingers come to my head, twisting in the ends of my hair. I bite back a moan at how good her touch feels because it’s more than a little pathetic how desperate I am.
“Don’t worry about the play,” I say into her skin, dragging my lips up the column of her throat. “The understudy will step in until Sabrina’s well enough to return, and we’ll move on as expected. It’ll be great. As for Death’s Teeth…”
I don’t have anything good to say about them, but my earlier sentiment remains.
I’d kill them too.
Anyone who intends to hurt her at all.
“Everything will be fine,” I say.
She doesn’t answer, instead rising up to meet me as I dive down for another kiss, done with talking for the night.
Sweaty and shaking,I rip myself from a nightmare—from the fresh scent of burning flesh and blood and eyes that were carved out, begging me to consume them.
My throat is tight as I jerk awake, drenched and struggling to control my heart, which feels like it’s going to beat straight from my chest.
The bedroom is dark, impossible to see even as I lift my hand in front of my face—just to make sure it’s still there. Numbness tingles at the edges of my fingertips, and I rub a circle against my pec, trying to regain sensation.
Heat seeps into my side, short breaths puffing against my collarbone, and for a moment, I tense up. Reaching down, I smooth my palm over the soft head of hair, sliding over the side of her face, familiarizing myself with the contours I learned long ago.
Before I was allowed to really touch her.
Not that this is technically allowed, but here in the secrecy of my home, at least we can pretend.
She stirs, trying to get closer in her sleep; her calf hooks around my waist, bringing her hot little cunt flush with my hip. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that she climbed in my bed with nothing but a thin T-shirt and cotton panties, and as I lie there trying to collect myself, I don’t think I’ve ever craved something more.
Wanton desire is nothing new when it comes to Elle, but right now, my body hums at her proximity, still half-asleep and totally enraptured by her.
I run my hands over my face and exhale, settling back on the mattress. My heart thumps erratically behind my rib cage, and as I inhale slowly, I get a whiff of her—honey, vanilla, and a tiny hint of saline clinging to her skin.
When she shifts again, rubbing her crotch lewdly against me, I pinch her cheek to get her to wake up. It takes a moment; she pushes onto her elbow, one hand hovering just above the band of my briefs.
Too close for comfort.
“What is it?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.
Fuck, she’s sexy. Even the silhouette of her makes my cock throb, dying to be set free.
“Nothing, baby. Go back to bed. Sorry for waking you.”
She nods and starts to lie back down, but her hand slips lower—too low, brushing over the raging erection waiting for her.
I grit my teeth as she pauses, keeping her fingers on me. “Elle…”
“Did you have a nightmare?”
An incredulous laugh tumbles out of me. “I’m not a child, temptress. You don’t need to worry about my sleeping habits.”
“Sex helps keep bad dreams away,” she says softly.
“I’m fine, honestly?—”
When she gives me a sharp squeeze over my briefs, I let out a noise of wicked contempt. The cheeky little brat knows what she’s doing, and she seems intent on getting her way this time.
I’ve been denying her out of insecurity—the idea that once we take that step, the flames that burn so bright between us will extinguish. Or that any comparisons will hit too close to home and I won’t be able to go through with it.
