With heavy breaths, I start pacing again, running my hands through my disheveled hair. “Fuck,” I mutter. “Fucking fuck.”
Do I regret what happened between us? No.
Do I hate myself for it? Yes.
Would I do it again?
Teeth grinding, I shake my head and blow out a huff. Today just isn’t the day for me to spiral—I’ve scrubbed myself in the shower and I can still feel her cum on my cock and taste her skin on my tongue.
Goddamn it.
I storm out the room, searching for her. We need to set boundaries or I’m going to lose my mind—she stays on one side of the manor, and I stay on the other. She can do whatever she wants in her ghostly form, and I’ll work on a plan to get out of here.
When I find her in the main sitting room, she’s on the ripped couch, feet tucked up under her, reading a book.
My pulse slows.
I stop at the threshold of the room—all the anger I had and the spiel I was going to throw at her about boundaries goes out the window as she looks up at me.
“You look tired.”
I frown. “Do you get off on being a bitch all the time?”
“Yes.” She scowls at me. “But only with you.”
And that turns me the fuck on.
We both stare at each other. I blink, and so does she.
“Were you coming here to annoy me, or do you actually need something?” she drawls.
“What year is it?”
Her head tilts as she closes the book she was reading. “What?”
“The year,” I repeat. “Or at least which century are we in?”
“It’s the twenty-first century?”
I baulk. “I’m being serious. Don’t fuck around with me. What year is it?”
“It’s 2025, Lynx.”
I go silent. Everything in the room vanishes from existence because what the fuck does she mean it’s 2025?
Then that means Dylan…
“For a demon, you’ve gone pale,” she says, and I can only just see her through my blurred vision, rising from the couch, dropping the book onto the coffee table. “Are you okay?”
I find the closest seat and lower myself onto it, growing dizzy, seconds from vomiting.
She places a phone in my hand. “Here. You can google whatever you want,” she says.
Sable settles down beside me, crossing her legs and watching me intently. Her stare makes my blood warm, and it pisses me off that I keep reacting to her this way. I don’t get nervous around people. That was beaten out of me a long time ago, so why the fuck do I feel anxious when she’s near?
I’ve fucked her. I should be over this by now. Why am I still reacting to her? Why do I want to hear her moaning my name again, or giving me fucking attitude while I’m so deep inside her?
Her whimpers have burned into my psyche, her fingers imprinted on my skin from how tightly she gripped my back.
