“Eli,” I say, remembering to hold my eyes shut. “You’re making this harder.”
“So hard,” he murmurs. “Now answer me.”
“I’m trying to stay mad at you.”
“I know. But, can youfeelme?”
“Fuck, yes, I feel you—or I feel something.”
“Good, because I can’t wait anymore. I want my hands all over you,” he says. “Running up your sides, your skin under my palms, over your hips, and shit—I want to tear off your bra and grab your tits.”
I laugh.“Romantic.”
“You know what I want next?”
I take a slow breath. “No.”
“I want to slip my hands around your neck.”
“Oh?”
“And tell you, ‘Don’t you dare bring romance into this. You keep your promise or nothing happens. Understand?’” His voice is rough, his breathing ragged like mine.
I nod, and a destroyed little noise comes out of me.
“Your hands are my hands,” he rasps. “Lift your shirt for me.”
I obey his breathy words and raise my shirt up to my collarbones.
“Untie your bra.”
I hesitate. “What if the others show up?”
“They can fucking wait.”
“Outside the broken window?”Watching?
“Would you rather them come inside?”
“No. I—”
“Your bra,” he interrupts.
“I have to do all the work?” I tease.
“You’ll do everything I say.”
I arch my back and bend my arms behind me to fiddle with the strings until they come undone. He releases a restrained moan as I drop back down.
“Show me.”
“Before or after?” I ask, holding my bra in place and convincing my eyes to stay closed.
“Before or after what?”
“His balls. Did you cut them off before or after you killed him?”
“Before, of course.”
