That invisible thread that’s been woven into my chest since our date has turned into the hook fromI Know What You Did Last Summer, lodged underneath my rib cage and pulling me toward him.Because this whole time, from the moment he sat down across from me, it’s been Wes.
“I would’ve liked that…” I stare at him, his gaze unblinking, dark and bright all at once.Then, so there’s no mistake about what part of his speech I’m referring to, I say, “All of it.”
He mustn’t have been expecting that, because a groan sounds from deep in his chest.His head drops back against the shelf of paper towels, eyes lifting to the ceiling as if he’s asking for divine intervention before he meets my stare again and shakes his head.
“Jamie, don’t…”
I’m about to ask what he doesn’t want me to do, what he wants me to stop, but then his eyes dart between mine and he sees something I can’t hide.Granted, I’m not trying hard to hide it.He lets out a sigh, and three counts later—
“Fuck it,” he mutters, pushing off the shelves and striding toward me.When he’s half a step away, he grabs the back of my neck and wrenches me forward.
CHAPTER 30
“Nice boys don’t kill like that.”
“Oh yes they fucking do.”
—NotBridget Jones’s Diary
It’s exactly like I feared.
He kisses me in a way that makes me forget we’re being hunted down by a complete psychopath.He pulls me into his body so tightly the cut on my arm stings as it splits back open, but even then I push closer.The pressure of his mouth against mine blurs whether we’ve lost ten or eleven people so far.And when he uses his teeth to pull at my bottom lip, I can convince myself we’re perfectly safe in this janitor’s closet with only one way out and one lock between us and the killer outside.
I grasp the nape of his neck with my fingers when he steps forward and presses my back into the wall.One of his hands drops to my ass, and when he lifts me up I shift my knees out, his thigh sliding between my own.He uses his grip to pull me firmly against it and the pressure is…Oh.It’s good.It’s very,verygood.Well done, Wes.
Pulling my mouth from his, I move my palms around to cup hisjaw, keeping his lips a blade’s width from mine when I whisper, “I don’t think we should—”
“We shouldn’t, but—” he murmurs, and when I open my eyes to meet his hooded gaze, it doesn’t matter how that sentence is going to end.
“We shouldn’t, but—” is all I need to hear.
“We shouldn’t, but—” is a very convincing argument.
“I just—” Wes drops his face into my neck, his mouth hovering at my throat, air pulling away from my skin before he releases it with a shudder.The sound makes me tighten my thighs around his and a sharp, satisfying pulse takes me by surprise.It’s just a preview, though.A teaser.
“I need to know what you look like when you—” He raises his head again and the look on his face, it’s—“If I might di—”
He shakes that thought away.“I need to know—” It’s like there are too many ends to that sentence and not enough time for him to figure out which one is going to accurately convey why we’re going to do this.So when he can’t seem to settle on one, he just breathes out an affected, extended, “Jamie.”
I am this close to going against the cardinal rule of horror films and having sex with this man I just met, because after all the debilitating fear, I just want a distraction, a release, an escape.
I just want Wes.
He waits for my answer before trying to kiss me again—another green flag if we get out of this—his eyes locked on my mouth, his breath hitting my face in hot pants.When his gaze lifts to meet mine again, his fingers grazing the back of my neck as his hand unfurls, I find myself nodding, pulling him closer, leaning in to close the distance.
“I want to.”I finally understand why so many of those horny teens met their demise to get some action.“Wes, I want you t—”
He pulls my mouth back onto his and this kiss is brutal.So deepand raw and devastating it should be a crime.The dichotomy of the blunt clutch and pull of his teeth on my lip and the deep, soothing sweep of his tongue against my own isn’t lost on me, but it is addictive.It’s inciting.It causes me to drop my hands to where his shirt is tucked into his pants and pull, ignoring the tacky parts of the material where the bloodstains haven’t fully dried.It makes him drag his hand down from my ass to run back up the front of my thigh, brushing up the hem of my dress and disappearing under it to grab my hip bone as I move against him, seeking more pressure, more heat, more of the heart-pounding effect that finally isn’t from fear.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline, my body trying to counteract the cortisol with a hit of dopamine or oxytocin, but I can’t find a good enough reason to stop myself from smoothing my hands underneath his shirt as soon as it’s free from his waistband, desperate to feel his skin against my palms if this is the only chance we’ll get.
“That’s it…” Wes says when his mouth disconnects from mine on an upward sweep, his grip tightening and guiding my movements atop his thigh.His voice is deep, breathless, rougher than the first cut of a student film.“That’s it, Jamie.Show me what I’ve got to look forward to.”
I rock against him.Arching, rolling, grinding.Over and over, until the heat in my belly competes with the warmth in my cheeks and the flush blooming across my chest.Up, in, down, circle, again.With a pleased grunt, his lips descend onto mine like they don’t have anywhere else to be.Like the odds aren’t stacked against us.Like we’re in an alternate timeline and he has me on his bed in his apartment instead of next to a shelf of cleaning supplies in a windowless room.
I trail my fingers up his abs, his ribs, around to his back.His skin is just as warm as mine, hot against my hands, and it’s smooth and hard, and the more of his body I touch the more I want to uncover.Sliding one hand back around to his stomach, I trace my fingers downthe trail of hair that starts beneath his belly button, over the cold buckle of his belt, until I palm the front of his pants, right where he’s pressing into my thigh.
He stifles a choked groan against my mouth when I work the pressure of my hand against him, but then his lips pause, and for a short, terrifying moment I think he may have heard something or—maybe even worse—he’s reconsidering this, reconsidering whether I’m worth any of the trouble we’ve gotten into tonight.Before I can spiral, he starts to work his mouth against mine again, releasing his grip on my neck and pulling my hand away before I can do anything too skillful.
