This, however, sets me on edge.
My stomach tightens, and the rush of adrenaline shoots out from where he’s touching me, spreading all the way to my already-restricted chest.
It’s back—that loathsome, uncontrollable feeling I had during the game. The same one that made me decide Osborn looked better splattered against the boards and earned me a penalty.
There’s no game now, no crowd, no noise. And somehow, the effect is the same. Worse, actually. With only the oppressive silence and the hum of the fluorescent lights, it hits harder, like it’s trying to claw its way out of me.
As static floods my brain, I shake my head.
No.
I swore to never allow Osborn to have this type of power over me again. He willnotmake me lose control.
So even though I want to chop his hand off for touching me, I’m not going to pull away suddenly or fight him or betray the discomfort he’s causing me.
Bite your tongue and put up with it, little fucker. Everything ends. This will, too, eventually.
Thanks for the pep talk, demon. What a charmer.
“If you wanted to buy me premium sticks, all you had to do was bring them along,” he says in rough words that seem to be spoken into my mouth instead of against it. “But you chose to throw this tantrum to get my attention. Well, you have it, fairy prince. What comes next?”
“Wrong.” I lift the bottle to my mouth, figuring he’ll remove his face from mine—he doesn’t. “I had no plans to buy you premium sticks, and I won’t. I’m just saying, Imightif you get on your knees and beg me.”
“Is that where you want me?” His smirk spreads slowly, his gaze dragging over my mouth once more. “On my knees?”
My lips part because the neck of the bottle is basically wedged between us now, and I can’t lift my hand any higher—not when his breath skims my damp lips like a curse.
My skin crawls. Or pretends to. I’m disgusted. Totally.Absolutely. So disgusted I could throw up.
Any second now.
Any second…
But I don’t, and nothing further comes.
Not the nausea or the static. Justnothing.
Actually, there issomething.
His lips.
They’re lowering farther, getting closer as tension coils between us, charging the air with the force of a fiery explosion.
My breath gets caught at the back of my throat, as if I’m going to choke to death with zero pressure against it.
His mouth is about to touch mine.
Do something.
Stopit?—
Osborn changes direction at the last second and wraps his lips around the bottle, his other hand sliding over mine, forcing me to tip it higher so he can drink.
His Adam’s apple bobs once, twice, and I track the movement without meaning to. I swallow hard, my throat tightening, my whole body going rigid like I’ve been stun-gunned.
The static floods my head with that noise again.
It’s as if my mind’s an old-fashioned TV stuck between channels. The sound hisses, the world flickers, and I’m trapped somewhere between too loud and too quiet.
