JODIE
Iknew letting him touch me was a bad fucking idea.
My head falls back against the wall as he finally releases my lips and drops his face into the crook of my neck.
“Damn, I needed that.”
I have no idea what it is, the endorphins or some shit, but all I do is laugh.
After everything he just told me, after what we just did, all I do is laugh? If I didn’t know before that I was bordering on certifiable, then I certainly fucking do now.
Did I just let myself get fucked over by the devil?
My laughter dies and the only sound left in its wake is that of our erratic breathing as we come down from our highs.
Eventually, he softens inside me and takes a step back, tucking himself away, all while holding my eyes.
“Hungry?” he asks with a smirk.
Amusement bubbles up within me again as I try to remember why I was so frustrated with him in the first place.
Yes, everything he told me is terrifying. But the boy standing in front of me is the one I got to know that first night. The one who took my grief away for a few hours. The one who picked me up last week and gave me a new reason to smile.
“Yeah. I’ll be out in a bit,” I say but quickly realise my mistake.
How the hell am I meant to walk back out there after that? There’s no way people won’t have noticed us both disappear, realised just how long we’ve been gone.
A smirk covers his face as if he can read my own thoughts.
“Anyone says anything, or even looks at you the wrong way, Demon, they’ll have me to deal with.” The smile that follows is all sweet and light, but now that I’ve had a taste of the monster that hides beneath, I don’t miss the promise of violence in his eyes.
Jesus Christ, why does that get me so hot?
I should be horrified that he’s just confessed to killing people, innocent people. But instead, I’m standing here panting like a fucking bitch in heat.
“Take your time, Demon.” He turns to slip away as I close the door of the stall I’ve backed into.
Pulling my ruined knickers down, I lower myself to the toilet and let out a heavy sigh.
What the hell are you doing, Jodie?
I drop my head into my hands and try to talk some sense into myself. But every time I think of him, I think of all the time we’ve spent together. All the times he’s dragged me from my grief and made me smile. The way he came the second I called him last week and literally picked me up off the street.
Does the rest of it really matter? His life is something he was born into. I doubt he’ll have had any choice in it becoming his life too. It literally runs through his blood.
Would it be wrong to push all of that aside and continue because, as crazy as it sounds, I still think we could have something?
The way he lights me up inside with one look, let alone the way he makes me burn with a single touch.
That’s something, right?
Right?
When I realise that I’ve been sitting there entirely too long, having a one-way conversation with myself, I clean up and pull my cold, damp knickers back on. They’re so bad that in the end, I drop them down my legs, tug them from my feet and stuff them at the bottom of my bag.
I can feel him inside me. I don’t need to be sitting in it too.
After washing my hands, I attempt to fix my makeup before holding my head high and preparing myself to walk through a full restaurant and back to our table.