They’reblue.Not black and cold, that awful, flat emptiness I saw in that alley. They’re the impossible, heart-stopping blue of a clear October sky.
He doesn’t smile or say anything at first. His gaze stays on me, unblinking. Behind him, a simmering pot releases a curl of steam that drifts around his neck like a scarf made of vapor. I’m a deer in the headlights, frozen still one step inside the door.
He sets down his knife. The metal kisses the cutting board with a softclinkthat echoes in the empty kitchen.
Then he reaches for the bowl of ripe strawberries waiting in front of him.
I follow his hands. The fruits are unbelievably red, a saturated, Technicolor crimson that doesn’t exist in real life. As I watch, Bastian selects one slowly. He raises it to his eyes and turns it this way and that, as if he’s inspecting it for flaws. His tattooed thumb traces the curve of its surface, pressing just slightly to test the firmness of the yielding flesh.
He brings it to his mouth.
His lips part.
His teeth sink in.
The juice runs down his chin, bright and glistening, catching the light like melting rubies. My mouth goes dry and my tongue feels thick and useless behind my teeth. I watch a single droplet slide along the sharp line of his jaw and down the column of his throat until it disappears beneath the collar of his jacket.
He still hasn’t said a word.
Neither have I.
Until he crooks one finger at me and says, “Come here.”
I gulp. “Why?”
“Eliana.” A shade of black passes over his eyes. “I wasn’t asking.”
Then, like he put a fishhook in my ribs and started reeling me in, I find myself drifting toward him. I can’t feel my feet—or is it that I can feel themtoomuch? Every inch of me is simultaneously buzzing with intensity and also completely numb.
It’s clearer than ever: I’m not the one in charge here.
I reach the island and round the corner to where he’s standing. When I’m close enough, Bastian’s hand finds my shoulder. It takes me only a second to realize what he’s ordering. The pressure is gentle but unmistakable.
He directs me downward until my knees meet the cold floor.
The cold tile nibbles at my bare knees, but I barely notice. I’m too busy staring up at him, terrified about what might happen if I blink. He holds out the strawberry, positioning it just at my lips.
“Eat,” he rasps.
I take a bite.
Sweetness explodes across my tongue, so vivid it almost hurts. Juice dribbles down my chin before I can catch it, but Bastian’s thumb is already there, swiping the mess from the corner of my mouth.
Then that same thumb slides between my parted lips.
“Suck.”
I lick it clean without hesitation, tasting fruit and salt andhim.
“Good girl,” he murmurs.
Two words. Two silly, silly little words. That’s all it takes for my low belly to melt and combust all at once.
“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks me.
I shake my head.
He nods like that’s exactly what he expected. Still cupping my chin in one palm, he picks up another strawberry and touches it to my lips again. “You came to me. You always come to me. Even when you’re running, you’re runningtoward.”
