Silence descends, broken periodically by Addie's heavy breathing. The sun is dipping low below the Bay, the light slowly drowning beneath the surface.
"Did we die?" she squeaks.
Sibby leans forward again. "You're silly. If you're still breathing, that means you're alive." She sniffs loudly. “And you still smell as pretty as ever.”
Addie’s wide eyes drift to her, shock bleaching the color from her face. If heat wasn’t rolling off her in waves and turning my dick into granite, I’d laugh.
"Sibby, exit the vehicle please," I tell her sternly. She rolls her eyes but listens, herding her imaginary men out of the car before slamming the door shut.
“You’re safe?” Jay asks through the phone.
"We're good," I say. "Thanks, man. I'll call you soon."
Disconnecting the call before he can get another word out, I train my gaze on Addie. She seems to stiffen further under my stare, and I’d be lying if I said that didn’t excite me.
Without looking away, I find the lever on the side of my seat and crank it, allowing me to slide it all the way back. She jumps, the soft leather groaning beneath her fingers again, while her gaze bounces around. Likely determining how quickly she can get out of the car before I pounce.
The tension is incredibly thick, and my dick is pressing firmly against the zipper of my jeans. It fucking hurts, but I welcome the pain.
“Come here,” I order roughly.
“Zade…” Her husky voice trails off, uncertainty polluting her decision. She teeters between listening to my command and making a run for it.
Fuck, I hope she does run. God knows how much I love to chase her.
She must remember this because she swallows, and with unsteady movements, she crawls onto my lap. Tendrils of her cinnamon hair fall over my shoulders and chest as she adjusts herself, settling lightly on my thighs. I know she can feel me between her legs, proven by the sharp inhale.
For now, I keep my hands to myself. She’s choosing to touch me—to get close to me—and I know it’s only because she’s still in the throes of fear and adrenaline from the car chase. It’s the same combination that drove her to fight me at every turn while burning and writhing beneath my touch. The second she comes down, reality will smack her upside the head, and she will go back to cowering from me.
I want to remind her how good it feels. Give her something to latch on to when she’s too lost in her head and can’t find her way past the demons screaming at her.
My fingers drift through the curtain of hair hiding us from the outside world, strands lacing around my fingers. It’s dark in here now, and the cool April air is seeping through the cracks. The water ate the sun, and I wonder if she’ll let me devour her, too.
She grips either side of my seat, once more digging her nails in deep, and I feel an irrational surge of jealousy that they’re not clawing into me instead.
“Closer, little mouse,” I whisper. “I need to feel if you’re real, and not just another ghost haunting Parsons Manor.”
A shaky exhale skitters across my cheek as she relaxes her body into mine until every inch of her is molded into me. I can feel every beat of her heart drumming against my chest, syncing to mine in a ballad of longing and sorrow.
One of her hands releases the seat, moving to the center console, in search of something. My brows jump in surprise when she produces a cigarette and my black lighter.
Then, she grabs my hands and places them on her backside. “You have until this cigarette burns out to touch me.”
I grin, delighting in her ultimatum. She’ll expect me to squeeze her tits and run my hand across her cunt, but she’s wrong. I’m not a pussy-deprived teenager that doesn’t know restraint any better than he knows how to last more than thirty seconds.
I’ll touch her in all the places that won’t feel good enough. Her inner thighs and up to where they meet her ass, and her tiny waist up to her ribs and the side of her tits. When she’s left with nothing but the taste of ash on her tongue, I’ll show her that regret tastes worse.
She turns her chin towards the window, but keeps her stare pinned to me as she sticks the cigarette between her lips and lights it, the flame dangerously close to my face. The flare brightens her unusual light brown eyes, creating a startling effect beneath the flickering orange light. Shadows dance across the lines of her face, darkening the freckles on her cheeks.
At that moment, I decide she can’t be real, and that I’ve gone mad just like the little doll who used to haunt the inside of the walls.
I’m ready to set this entire car on fire, content with watching it burn around us if it means I can stare at her beneath the blazing glow. The flame goes out, casting us back in darkness, only the glimmer of moonlight allowing me to see her shadowed curves.
The cherry flares as she sucks in and then softly exhales, smoke whirling between us. My eyes are riveted on her mouth, desperate to see those lips wrapped around me instead.
“Am I tangible, or will you let me slip through your fingers like the smoke from this cigarette?” she asks, her voice raspy. Every single nerve ending lights up from how sensual she sounds.
Instead of allowing me to answer, she twists her hand and sticks the cigarette between my lips. The burn from the nicotine and menthol spreads down my throat and into my chest. She pulls it away and leans forward, brushing her parted lips against mine.