Something is very wrong with Sylvan Connor. That much is clear.
“You deserved it,” I snarl, trying to mask my apprehension with anger. And before I can wait for whatever smug reply he might have next, I shift one hand from his chest to his throat, the wool of his coat grazing my knuckles as I squeeze.
His skin is warm and I can feel his pulse beneath my touch.
“Now let me go,” I snap. “Or I’m going to fucking hurt you.”
He tilts his head, causing his lips to brush against mine again, a low laugh leaving his mouth, warm on my own. “Please, baby girl,” he begs. “No one ever does anymore.”
Anymore.
It sounds like a confession, and it throws me off.
I curl my fingers tighter around his neck but my mind is spinning with his nearness, his words, the fact we’re alone and it’s loud inside this place. If I did scream for help, he could easily put his hand over my mouth before anyone heard me.
Slut D.It echoes above all the other thoughts inside my head. Would anyone even believe I didn’t want him?
I mean,doI want him?
“Why did you say that to Faust?” I want to know. I don’t clarify, but he knows what I’m talking about.
His eyes are unreadable, his expression stoic. One second, he’s temptation with a black and red bow, the next, he’s iced me out.
I’m worried he’ll give me nothing, and I’m annoyed I care being empty-handed as far as Sylvan’s psyche is concerned.
Then he says, his voice soft as he overenunciates, “I wanted him to know he can have everything, but he can’t have you.”
Shock steals through me.
It’s not what I expected. Arrogant, yes, brave, maybe, but it sounded oddly confessional. True.
That’s his trick though, isn’t it? He betrays you once, twice, every time he opens his mouth, and it all blurs together, impossible to pick any truth from his fiction.
Before I can decide what to do next, the door to the room opens.
I snap my head up as much as I can with Sylvan’s hand on my skull, and a moment later, Faust Darling stands in the doorway, his eyes on mine.
“Did you come to deliver the news, Captain?” Sylvan asks without looking up. I feel his eyes burn against my skin as his breath mingles with mine.
Slowly, Faust closes the door at his back.
He’s dressed in a black hoodie, black pants, those chains around his throat.
It’s too cold for just a hoodie, and I have no idea how long it would take him to get here, but I think he might have driven.
Because of my text?
I watch him drag his gaze over me, straddling his teammate, then the devil himself, his pulse calm beneath my grip on his throat.
Faust’s eyes seem to linger where we connect.
Our mouths so close, our bodies pressed into one another.
His brows pull together and he walks closer.
There’s a lull from the noise outside and I can hear the hardwood creak beneath his Jordan’s.
His hands are in the pocket of his hoodie and his chin is dipped as he stares down at me.
