Page 171 of Damsel in Disguise

The song reaches its peak, and suddenly he catches me again, pulling me against him so abruptly that a sharp gasp slips from my throat.

The movement steals whatever breath I’d managed to recover.

“In all your fantasies, you always knew.

That man and mystery were both in you.

And in this labyrinth where the night is blind

The Phantom of the Opera is here (the Phantom of the Opera is there),

Inside my mind (inside your mind).”

The female vocalist rises higher, her voice soaring above the orchestra.

“Sing, my Angel of music.

Alistair twirls me again, circling me around him.

He’s there the Phantom of the Opera.”

Higher. He changes the direction.

And higher. Now he’s circling me while I twirl and twirl.

The orchestra keeps climbing up. Along with it comes the continuous twirling.

He increases the pace, blurring the world into a blend of black and white, leaving only streaks of color.

Another spin. I feel weightless.

Another. I feel like floating.

And another. Gravity might’ve forgotten me.

The final note approaches. The entire club seems to hold its breath.

The room begins to tilt pleasantly around the edges. He catches me putting a stop to my lightheadedness.

The position leaves me completely exposed to him—my body suspended within the strength of his hold. His one arm effortlessly supports my thigh while the other cradles my back, offering my throat to him.

The final note drifts through the speakers, threading itself between us until it feels less like part of the song and more like a private vow exchanged in a language only we understand.

It holds me there, caught between the pulse of the music and the steady rise and fall of his breathing against my neck, dissolving the rest of the world around the edges.

The screaming crowd, the flashing lights, the dozens of cameras pointed in our direction—all of it fades into insignificance beneath the unbearable weight of his attention.

His mouth finds my throat again.

Unlike the bruising bite from earlier, this one carries no punishment behind it, only a gentle demand to surrender.

I do. I surrender to him, completely.

His teeth graze the sensitive skin in a slow, lingering nibble, sending heat cascading throughout my body far more effectively than any sharper pain ever could.

Then his lips find mine for a deep, sensual kiss. I push my tongue into his mouth, tangling with his, tasting red wine, passionately.

The tenderness of it feels infinitely more dangerous, for almost resembling affection.