I’ve been surviving. Not living.
Goosebumps shrivel my back, feeling the presence at my door before the hinges even squeak.
I make the conclusion that it’s not Ora very quickly. She barges in because, well, it’s her room, too. So, the uninvited body slipping inside and closing the door is triggering the juvenile panic of being infatuated.
No. Oh, no-no-no.
I just admitted it. Fantastic.
“Got you this.” Razor swerves around me, sticking a can of Coca-Cola out while collapsing back on my bed.
He’s in my bed. On my white blanket. And he’s sweaty. Dirty. His hands are grimy from installing my spare silks in the Globe—and whateverelse he was up to that sent him back home with his overalls folded down to terrorize me.
Accepting his offer, I shun a grin and slide Duse’s hard work away from him. “Thanks.”
He smiles, tucking his filthy arms behind his head and watching me crack the tab. “Do I make you nervous, Bunny?”
The burn of sweet chemicals coats my tongue and launches down my throat, my stomach immediately dipping. “W-what? N-no, I-”
He raises a brow, intercepting my lie.
I accept defeat, dropping my shoulders with a huff. “Yes. Everything does.”
“Why’s that?”
The loaded question insults my nervous system, which only further proves my point and curls my shoulders inward. “I don’t know.”
He studies me, his thick brows lowering his eyes sharp for a scrutinizing scan of how awkward I become.
I can’t even hold his eye contact right now. I feel naked and exposed and stupid. Like, I’m an illness people are afraid of catching.
He must not be worried about falling sick, though. He’s cruising my demeanor while sitting upright, and as he gets to his feet, all I can think about is how badly I want him to lay back down so I can retry, so I can explain that I’m worried about taking up too much room and saying the wrong thing.
He’s leaving because you’re pathetic.
The whites of my eyes sting, losing sight of him moving around my peripheral. Naturally, I expect to feel his heat slip away, hear the door open and then close me in with my loneliness.
But he lingers behind me.
My hips begin aching, accommodating the embers on my skin with a flush of pressure through my pelvis that flicks dopamine up my spine.
Like he can sniff out the reaction, he draws his fingertips up my vertebrae. Tenderly. Softly. Making it a point to slowly influence my shoulders to straighten with each notch he passes over.
“Like that,” he whispers.
Trailing up my tank top, he brushes circles between my shoulder blades, instituting chills to tighten my nipples.
The air becomes hot, each breath dropping my chest low and raising it high. If I wasn’t an idiot, I’d do like Aries said and own my power, spin around and let him take my top off, watch him fall back down to his knees and placate this infuriating need with his tongue around my nipples.
Maybe I’m not an idiot, though. Maybe I’m saving myself.
“Now, hold it. Just like that for me,” he whispers again. This time, against the crook of my neck, sinking his airy guidance into my depravity.
It’s hypnotizing. My synapses register reality, how close he’s standing against me, the featherlike touch he’s running up the back of my neck—but I can feel the kisses he placed on my stomach almost twelve hours ago.
The phantoms dance with his breath against the side of my neck, pressing the same longing affection where his lips are mere inches from actually touching me, teasing me with how good it would feel to have him take me on a ride of ecstasy.
“Are you gonna remember?” His fingers dust across my shoulder, the faint glide traveling down my arm. “Or do you need me to correct it every time I catch it?”
