Shock widens his eyes, his crazy smile growing larger with the drop of his jaw. “You’re admitting that shit? So, youaresneaking around.” Slamming his teeth shut, the ticking muscles in his jaw flex his ears back, the warmth of his eyes becoming bottomless.
“Get out of my room, Razor.” I shake, fighting off the bomb of angst lighting up my nerves.
Lowering himself down, the tobacco on his breath fans my lips, inducing a haze that carousels my head and flutters my stomach. “Make me,” he whispers.
Silence hangs between us, each breath coming out a little harsher, the unspoken ire sinking the air with humidity.
It gets hotter. And hotter. And hotter. The increased temperature flushes his cheeks. He’s so close, I can make out the individual beads of sweat percolating along his freckles and moles, the warmth of his hooded mahogany flaring to life with carnality.
Why do the worst things feel the best?
“I’m gonna shower.” I break the silence.
Nodding vaguely, his gaze flits down to my lips. “Okay. While we’re in there, you can tell me where you hid my shit.”
“I didn’t invite you,” I hum back, my head angling.
“You’ve already given me the RSVP to your body.”
I shudder. “Are you punishing me for something I didn’t do?”
“Bunny…” Heat wafts as he lowers himself down over my shoulder, his lips brushing the hair covering my ear. “If I was punishing you, you’d be screaming.”
Pressure drains through my pelvis, starting up an ache that demands for him to relieve it. I’m sure he can sense that. That Ineedhim. He’s drifting back to loom over me with a cocky smile, going as far as gently rolling his bottom lip between his teeth for a taunting nip that reawakens a phantom across my throat.
“I’m tired, Razor.” Having to swallow excess saliva, I take a break from his eye contact and move toward the closet, hooking my hands around the hem of my tank top and lifting it off. “I can’t do this with you tonight.”
“You don’t wanna play with me?”
“I have a lot on my mind,” I rasp, chucking my top into the hamper and kicking my boots off.
“You can talk to me. You know that right?”
“Can I?” Snapping up, our eyes lock. “Or are you just gonna play with my head, make me think I’m special, worthy of anything other than the goddamn dread of being stuck in this place?”
Oh… Woah. I don’t know where that just came from.
Taking in his brief display of surprise, regret swells up through my face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Looking at me a moment longer, his sweaty hair falls around his eyes with a nod—then he’s leaving my room.
My throat thickens, succumbing to the glaze pervading my sight, listening to the latch of the door click into place.
It’s fine. This is good. Razor leaving you alone is good. Yes. Good. Good. It’s really good.
Mechanically moving across the room, my own voice plays on loop through my head, over and over, my vision narrowed to the film growing milkier the farther my mind stretches away from me.
I manage to get my pajama drawer open. Really, it’s just stretchy, cotton shorts and a variety of cropped or oversized shirts. I guess it’s not really a pajama drawer if they’re nothing special. I didn’t get these clothes as strictly pajamas. All of us girls passed around the clothes that were left here for us until we had our own wardrobes built.
So, it’s just a drawer of clothes I use for bedtime. Right? Or would that make them pajamas even though they didn’t come with a pajama label? What makes a pajama a pajama?
“Comfort,” I answer myself softly, still siphoned into the blurry vortex.
My hand twitches, scathing the folded clothes I know I need to focus on, so that I’m not standing here drooling and staring at the wall.
“Talkin’ to yourself again?”
Razor’s gentle voice pulls me out of the dissociative state, his calloused palms coasting around my waist, one slipping down the back of my thigh. The eruptive sensation of him easily scooping me up into his arms burns me alive. Like, someone shoutingclearand an electric current running through my heart, the shockwaves shaking my veins.
