I can’t speak—all I can do is watch as Osborn lets some of the alcohol drip from his mouth into mine, slipping past my parted lips and burning its way across my tongue.
And he’s watching it, too. His usual smirk is wiped clean, and his eyes light up in a shade so bright, it knocks the air right out of my lungs.
It’s almost…dazzling.
Blinding, even.
“Mm. Might consider being on my kneesveryseriously.” He darts out his tongue and runs it along his lower lip, and my eyes follow the motion, my brain short-circuiting for a fraction of a second.
Then the long, grating static disappears, and the outside world comes crashing back in again.
Like a sound bomb, everything filters in at once.
I shove myself away from Osborn’s orbit, practically sending myself flying across the ice, tripping on a few broken sticks and almost falling before I catch myself.
He doesn’t move, just watches me closely with a slight tilt of his head and a curve in his annoying lips.
Yo, stop staring at his lips,says my brain.
Just a second,replies my eyes, or the other half of my brain, or whichever fucking incompetent son of a bitch is running the show right now.
My breathing deepens, growing harsher than if I were doing intense cardio, my chest rising and falling in sync with my jumbled nerves.
The ones that even my concoction of alcohol and painkillers didn’t seem to quiet—I rate this mix three out of five for inconsistency reasons.
“So…” Osborn trudges toward me ever so calmly, and I’m watching his every step as if he’ll pounce on me at any second.
Which is ridiculous.Ipounce on people, not the other way around.
“Is this a kink?” He stops a few steps away from me and kicks away one of the murdered sticks. “Wearing and destroying my stuff, I mean.”
I narrow my eyes, then remember I did put his skates on because I wanted to do a round on the ice while drunk and possibly high. Another decision the me from less than an hour ago thought was genius, and he’s obviously getting disowned as we speak.
You’re so fired, demon.
“Those skates are too big for you, my prince. You’ll hurt yourself.”
“Aw, worried about me? How touching. Hold on, let me shed a few tears for the effort.” I pretend to wipe my eyes.
“Worried? Not really. I just hate cleaning up blood off my ice.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t bleedforyou.”
“No, but you’d bleedonme, wouldn’t you?”
He says that in a gruff tone as he takes a step forward. With the skates, we’re about the same height, and I actually get to look down at him.
I hold my ground, refusing to move—because fuck this shit—but my fingers tighten around the neck of the bottle. “You sound deranged. Should I file a restraining order?”
“I should be the one filing one of those, considering you delivered yourself into my ice rink in the middle of the night, acting like an epic sore loser.” He reaches a hand to my face.
I slap it away with the bottle, sending droplets of alcohol on the ice. “Don’t touch me.”
“Why?” He tilts his head slowly as if I’m a puzzle he’s intending to solve. “Afraid of something?”
“Yeah, catching a disease from this shithole. It’s a health hazard to be here, FYI, so if you want donations, all you have to do is become my servant for a week.”
“My, is that another kink? Tell me more.”
