FIVE
No one’sever looked at me the wayhedoes.Like he’s missing nothing. Not the freckles on my collar bone or the protruding ribs.
It’s too much attention. Too much scrutiny.
“I won’t bite,” he taunts. I’ve been staring at him this whole time.
He can see everything above my shoulders and a sliver of what peeks above my undershirt. I should keep it that way, hoarding as much of myself from him as I can. I should leave. Remember my duty as dictated by my father to stay pure for my future husband.
But where is the self-destruction in that?
Daze’s right. A vengeful vendetta has more appeal than continuing to grieve in silence. Though, to his credit, he seems willing to offer me an out.
“We were joking,” he adds playfully, raising his hands in defeat. “Hypothetically, if you fuck like you kiss, I doubt I’m missing much.”
But he’s already laid down the dare, and before doubt can set in, I let my hands fall, watching his nostrils flare at the sight. It’s like he’s reading every thought in my head, hating the conclusion I come to. Daze the druggie. What a catch.
“Or not?” he taunts, his voice dangerously soft.
Gritting my teeth, I remove my undershirt first. Next, I finger the fastenings of my skirt, but I’m not brave enough to gauge his reaction. Instead, I face the opposite wall as I drag it down my legs, my chest heaving. It’s cold in here, but I don’t feel it, even as my breaths paint the air before me white. I’m disconnected from my body, just a ghost inhabiting a shell.
Or so I think. That aching feeling in the pit of my stomach growing with every passing second of silence might be shame. Desperate, I try to ignore it.
But he doesn’t seem eager to help me. He’s still seated on the floor, just watching.
“Are we doing this or what?” I croak without turning around. My hands still shake, and fisting them through my hair is the only way I can disguise it. “Now you don’t want to talk?”
Finally, the floor trembles with movement, but his steps are heavy. Slow. Reluctant? It’s impossible to gauge just where he is. Close?
Closer. A gasp rips from my throat as his hand finally brushes my hip. My gaze darts to it, watching each finger spread out to cover as much flesh as he can in one go.
“Last chance,” he warns in an alarmingly soft rumble. Too soft. My eyes drift shut as if to capture the feeling of how he said it. Maybe this will make it easier to punish myself later? I’ll hear his voice and remember this fall to rock bottom. “Just say the word, Frey—”
“Stop talking.”
He does, and no warning comes as he spins me around. I inhale as his breath floods my lungs, rich with coffee, sweat, and cigarettes. One inhalation isn’t enough to decipher him completely.
There’s something raw lurking underneath the overwhelming flavor of him, and my tongue latches onto the spicy tang. Desperation? Loathing? Self-hate?
He’s like a mirror, reflecting every emotion I don’t want to feel. Things that are so easy to ignore with anyone else.Bad sign, some inner voice warns, but it’s no louder than a whisper.
Daze’s presence easily drowns it out. He’s still holding me captive, sliding his hand up to my cheek. My stomach bunches into knots as heat flares along my skin. A shift in the air is my only warning before I feel his lips brush my own, demanding to be let in. I open my mouth on instinct, only to feel nothing.
“Slow down.” I feel him speak the words against my tongue. His other hand cups the side of my jaw, guiding my head to a position he approves of. “Look at me.”
No, that little voice inside me warns. But it’s no use. My eyelids flutter, revealing his face in blurred snippets. Stern frown. Mockingly raised eyebrow. Dangerous tongue still sliding along his lower lip, capturing my taste.
“Close your lips,” he tells me, nudging my bottom one until I comply. “Yeah, like that. Nowfeel. We can go slow. I’m not in any damn rush.”
Slow. My heart doesn’t like that word. It panics, sending my pulse surging. I feel it pulsing through my fingertips, making them twitch even more. I have to ball both hands into fists to stop it.
Slow. Patience is the weapon he uses to pry my mouth open with deliberate flicks of his tongue. Like he has all of time at his disposal. Time to waste away fucking a stranger in his shitty gym. Time to taste her. Smell her—he’s sloppy when he’s sensing me. I can hear every deliberate, thieving inhale. That’s what he does—steals, taking away pieces of me to pore over later.
It’s more invasive than sex—one violation I didn’t sign up for.
“Don’t fight me,” he warns between those devious lashes of his tongue. “Let me in.Thisis how you kiss, Freylie Frey.”
This. Slow, sensual bursts. Rough, searing nudges. Grating teeth. Blistering heat.