I snort. “So sorry for being so disruptive to your stalking. Next time I’ll strike a couple poses for you.”
I’ll never admit how his answer gives me chills. Both ice cold and fiery hot. He smirks, and it makes me sad that it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I’d appreciate that,” he murmurs distractedly. His eyes are tracing my curves like they're scripture, and he's a sinner that is searching for proof of a God that he no longer can hear.
“You need space from me while wanting to be close. Sounds like a marriage,” I deadpan.
“It will be.”
It’s instinct to deny that. I still want to and do so in my head. But I don’t give voice to it. Not tonight, I won’t.
So, I swallow the words and let him dream.
We fall into silence, but it’s weighed with sadness, guilt, and anger. He’s swarming in the emotions like a beekeeper holding a nest. I’m getting stung by it, and it’s making my skin burn.
“Kiss me,” I whisper. If it could only ease the burn in both of us. He stills, and my bravery is slipping, so I lean forward and make a move instead.
I capture his lips within my own, relishing over the different type of burn that blooms from our connected lips. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back, but it’s slow. While it’s no less intense, it lacks his usual ferocity.
And that’s something I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed until now.
Getting nearly desperate, I nip at his bottom lip before sucking it into my mouth. His hands grip my waist in a tight hold, and for a moment, I think he almost pushes me away.
But then he breaks, his resolve shattering, and finally—finally—he feasts on my lips. Tasting me like he's licking ice cream out of a cone.
My hands dive into his hair, exploring the soft strands as his own bless my body with the same honor, slipping beneath the duvet and roaming my curves. His tongue battles against mine, creating a tornado of passion and a million pent-up emotions.
The duvet feels heavy and suffocating on my body, but when I try to wriggle loose, Zade traps me further. I yank away from him, and he follows, making escape futile when his lips are impossible to deny.
“Let me out,” I gasp between a nip of his teeth.
“We're not taking it past this, Addie,” he declares with finality.
“Why?” I breathe, and the logical part of me rallies against the stupid question. I should be relieved.
“Because the first time I fuck you, I want you to have all of me. Not just bits and pieces.” He takes a breath. “I’m not whole right now. And I can’t worship you when all I see is her.”
Reaching up, I trace his scar, and a breath shudders out of him in response.
“Okay,” I whisper. I get it. He’s suffering right now, and I’m only a temporary distraction. It doesn’t bother me when I know the girl occupying his mind is a little girl that is now dead. A death he blames himself for.
“I’m sorry, you’re right. But I just want you to know that it’s not your fault. The what ifs will plague you as long as you let them, Zade. But you need to remember all the girls that you did save. Don’t forget to remember them, too.”
He doesn’t deign me a verbal answer. Instead, he leans in and skates his lips across mine. I let him explore, our kiss much calmer. The burn is a low sizzle, bubbling beneath the surface but depleted of oxygen to allow it to grow.
Sex isn’t something either of us needs right now. He’s not in the right mindset, and I don’t know if I ever will be. This thing with Zade—it’s confusing.
And eventually, I’m going to have to put a stop to it.
Just not tonight.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and I sigh when I see it’s my mother. Despite my brain screaming at me not to, I click the green button and slap the phone on my ear.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet, trying to keep my voice from betraying how I actually feel.
“Hello, honey. How are you doing?” she asks, her prim voice tightening my body into stone. It’s a trained reaction when passive aggressive insults are being slung my way most of the time.
“I’m good, just getting ready for the fair,” I answer, glancing over at Daya.
We’re in my room getting dressed, a heady sense of anticipation in the air.
Satan’s Affair is tonight, and we always have the best fucking time. I know tonight won’t be any different. I’ll finally have a night where my headspace isn’t filled with dangerous men and a murder gone cold.
Or maybe a particularly dangerous man I haven’t seen in a week.