My eyes widen as my heart kicks my ribs, screaming curse words I do not entertain in its grand scheme of escape. I whisper, “Mr. Anders?”
The billowing sleeve of my dress falls to my elbow as he pins my hand above my head.
Breath caught, I do not move when he leans in, slants his face, and touches his mask to my wrist.
Oh no.
Oh no, no,no.
“Mr.—”
“Damion,” he rumbles. Heat pours from the fabric of his mask to caress my skin. “You are a vision, Mirabelle. A dream. I’d wish on a star for you to be mine, but their light is too pale next to you for me to see when they fall.”
“Sir…” I whisper. “Please.”
“Damion, please,” he corrects, drawing his nose down my skin to rest at the crook of my elbow. “Such sweet agony.” Hisfree hand settles at my waist, dreadfully present in its weight, in the press of his fingers, in the additionalheat.
His thumb swipes, and my knees threaten to buckle. Shivering and shattered, I say, “Damion, please.”
He cusses. Pulling his face from my arm, he studies me, and I find myself wishing I could see his eyes.
Right now, he’s more of an enigma than he’s ever been, and I am more at his mercy than I have ever felt.
Staring helplessly at the blank canvas of red and blue before me, I wait—patient—for something to break.
Mr. Anders’s grip loosens, slips. My arm falls to my side the second I’m free, but I can only relish the freedom a moment before he cups my face and presses his mouth to mine.
Everything inside me electrifies as the knowledge of his lips beyond the fabric of his mask writes itself into my brain. The “kiss” lasts barely a second. Then the press, the heat, the sureness and stability, are gone. And he’s gone.
And I’m staring ahead at the neighbor house’s siding while his heavy steps abandon me there, confused…and ablaze.
Chapter 19
?
Ready, set.
Damion
Thirty more seconds.
Pain gnaws at my muscles as I keep form, frequency, and repetitions steady.
Thirty more seconds of discipline.
Thirty…more.
Breaths saw through my lungs, and I stutter when a skirt dances past the door to my gym, catching in the corner of my eye.
The machine I’m using automatically registers the fault and releases the weight, making me groan, squeeze my eyes shut, and toss the bar back into place. Stupidsmart home gym. Five thousand dollars of robbed consequences. Like, primarily, being crushed to death.
Breathing heavy, I sit up, grab my water bottle and my towel, and head toward the doorway.
The pretty skirt continues dancing down the hall, a duster following the line of my baseboards as it goes.
It has been three quiet days since Halloween when I took advantage of my mask to steal what I had expected to be an underwhelming kiss.
It wasn’t, though.
