There’s a smear of pink lipstick on the rim. A perfect crescent where Bella's mouth pressed against the glass and she took a hesitant sip on the balcony.
I took the wrong glass when I walked away after the kiss.
I know I took the wrong glass. I knew it the moment my fingers closed around it and I felt the ghost of her warmth still clinging to the crystal. I could have turned around and picked up my own.
Instead, I raised it to my lips when I came back inside, lined my mouth exactly where hers had been, and pressed it to drink.
The whiskey inside burned, but it’s nothing compared to the heated smear of her lip print.
Fuck.
I do it again now. Tilt the glass, press my lips to that pink crescent, let the watered-down nothing slide across my tongue, and swear I can still taste her on my tongue. I swear I can still keep kissing her without actually touching her.
The kiss replays behind my eyes for the hundredth time. Her chin tilting up. Her lips parting. The soft dare in her voice:do your fucking worst.
Then she closed the gap between us, and the universe fuckingbroke.
See? Nothing, she said.
She lied and I know she lied because there was a microsecond where the flicker of something raw and intense almost overwhelmed her before her composure slammed back into place.
The kiss was supposed to unsettle her and throw her off her game. Instead, it had left me so rock-hard for the rest of the night that I almost wished Nico was back. Because then, I might have an excuse to kill something to distract me from the feral urge to claim her for myself.
But there’s no one else for me to take my frustrations out on, so I’m forced to play nice for the rest of the night, smile, nod, and say all the right things. And the whole time, my eyes kept finding her while my mind replayed the slick of her sweat on my fingers and her pulse fluttering under my fingers.
Fucking hell, this woman…
She’s the living reminder of that piece of shit who played a part in destroying everything good in my life. I should want to see her ruined, broken, and begging.
I want her begging, all right.
Just not for mercy.
I’ve never had a plan fall apart as quickly as this one is right now, and it pisses me the fuck off because it means she’s somehow slipped under my skin.
And truth be told, I have no idea justwhenit happened.
From the corner of my eyes, I glimpse a flip of dark hair, and all thoughts crumble into dust as Bella walks into the elevator, alone. She spins around on her pair of modest toe pumps that are laced up around her ankles, her cocktail dress fluttering for a moment to give me a tantalizing glimpse of bronzed skin, and her eyes lock with mine for a second.
Then, the elevator door closes and she’s gone.
Fuck it.
My legs are moving before I give them permission and before she’s gone for good.
When the elevator door opens,I see that she’s already stepping on the curb. Her eyes are glued to her phone, and her pink tongue darts out to wet the lips I want to taste again.
"Where are you going?" I ask as I start walking towards her.
Bella's shoulders stiffen at my voice and her fingers tighten around her phone. "Home."
I start walking towards her. "In what?"
"A cab. A Lyft.” She gives me a quick glance over her shoulders, rolls her eyes, and starts walking to the corner. “A horse-drawn carriage, for all I care."
Then, she turns, and I can see the same unsteadiness I'm feeling reflected back at me even from here.
"I'm a grown woman, Slava. I know how to get home."
