"I don't go to school dances."
"Because you don't dance."
His eyes don't leave mine. "Exactly."
I try to play it cool. I try to lean back casually, but there's no room. My lower back presses against the counter, and all that's behind me is marble and shame.
I nod, like that makes perfect sense. Except it doesn't. None of this does.
"You could still come," I say, my breath catching as his fingers flex against the edge. "Even if you just stand in the corner and look like you're judging everyone."
"You should go with someone who actually dances," he says, and as he speaks, his hand shifts slightly—closer to my hip. Nottouching. But close enough that I suck in a breath and look at the thin sliver of space between us, it's less than an inch.
I could move forward and let our hips touch. He could draw me in closer, or push me on top of the counter and—wow stop it, this guy just said no to going to the dance, so this is so not happening.
"Why?"
He exhales slowly through his nose. I feel it more than hear it. His gaze flickers down to my lips before settling on my eyes again.
"Because that's what you deserve."
That makes my stomach flip. "Deserve?" I ask, trying to hold steady. "What do you know about what I deserve?"
His jaw tightens. He leans in just a little more, and now there's barely any space between us. I can feel every inch of him without a single point of contact. My breath shortens, chest brushing his ever so slightly with each inhale.
"You're sunny," he says, voice just above a whisper. "You're warm. Bright. You make people laugh even when they don't want to."
I stare at him, lips parted.
"You're adorable," he adds.
My heart stutters. "You think I'm adorable?"
He swallows, gaze dark. "I think you're too good for me. You should go to the dance with someone who actually dances, someone who's going to see how good you are and make it their life mission to keep you good."
Keep me good?
The words catch on the edge of something electric in my chest. My eyes flicker down to his mouth, to the soft pink curve of his lower lip, just slightly parted.
"You won't keep me good?"
He breathes out hard through his nose, jaw tight. "Not with the way you look at me."
His voice drops into a rough whisper as he leans in, and now our noses are practically brushing. One breath forward, and we'd be kissing. One heartbeat closer, and I'd fall into him completely.
My ears burn, but I force my eyes up—away from his mouth, into the storm I know is waiting behind his stare.
"How do I look at you?" I whisper, the words trembling on my tongue like they're already desperate for his answer.
His eyes burn into mine, and for a moment, he doesn't speak. He just watches me, every flicker of movement, every twitch in my throat, like he's trying to decide if I'm ready for what he's about to say.
"You look at me like you want something dangerous," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, scraping against my skin like a touch I can't escape. "Like you want to be ruined."
I feel like I've lost the ability to breathe. Lost the functions needed to actually function like a human person. All I can feel is this growing need in my stomach and the quiet throb of my pussy. I press my thighs closer together, trying to steady myself, but it only makes the ache worse.
His fingers curl against the marble counter behind me, and when he speaks again, his voice is low, steady, and devastating.
"I don't want your smiles, Lily. I don't want your happiness, or your sweetness, or whatever parts of you people tell you to protect." He leans in even closer, his lips ghosting the corner of my mouth, brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down my spine. "I want your screams," he whispers, the words hot against my skin. "I want your tears. I want every piece of darkness you keep locked away. Every inch of you that scares you. I want that."
